


Chrysalis

by pillow forts (pyrorocketeer)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff, BAMF Hermione Granger, Family, Gen, Hermione Granger is adopted by Regulus, Hermione as the Chosen one - SORT OF, More characters to be added, This is a mishmash of family and coming-of-age and suspense, Time Travel, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrorocketeer/pseuds/pillow%20forts
Summary: Sirius Black gets a letter from his brother—who he hasn't spoken to in years—asking for a place to stay. He says his home in France was burnt down and his house-elves were murdered.He brings his thirteen year old daughter with him.Hermione Granger-Black is the first Hogwarts transfer in decades, and school's never been easy when you were the new kid on the block. Throw in a pair of estranged brothers, memories of an alternate universe, a fifteen year old cold case, and a murderer out to get her, and we have ourselves a party!





	1. Chapter 1

It was Sunday night, and Sirius decided to go to bed early. He wasn't the type to go to bed early, but he had nothing to do except read in the big library. Remus was at Hogwarts, Lily and James were working late shifts and other friends from work were busy with their families. Tomorrow, he had a mountain-load of cases to deal with. Moody wanted him to check on the “potions-thief” in Knockturn Alley.

Being an auror was taxing, but after the war, Sirius’ career options were limited and he had connections like Moody.

It had been 13 years since the war. He set his wand alarm, pulled on a pair of socks, and curled underneath his duvet and stared up at the ceiling of what was formerly his parent’s bedroom. They’d managed to get rid of the shrieking portrait of his mother two summers ago, when Lily suggested that they change the wallpaper. Brilliant swot.

And so Grimmauld Place was quiet. Too quiet. 

He closed his eyes, and he turned over. 

At around quarter past three, he heard some insistent pecking on his window.

“What the bloody hell?”

He sat up with annoyance to see an owl flapping outside. The owl was black, and she had golden eyes. A rare breed. The owl bore a letter on his leg.

With sleep still in his mouth, he walked towards the window, and he undid the latch on the window, and he sighed. It’s not as if owls were magically timed to appear exactly at breakfast. The owl flew in, and she sat on the dresser. Sirius untied the letter from her leg, and she pecked him.

“Ouch!” he said. “Calm down!” he muttered. Reaching into the bottom drawer of the nightstand, he picked up a pack of owl treats and he emptied a few on the table for the owl as he read.

The letter was brief and to the point and it was addressed to him from his brother.

_Sirius,_

_I’m looking for a place to stay urgently. My house was burned to the ground, and I am in grave danger. Would you be willing to let me move into Grimmauld Place till I find a new place?_

_Regulus_

Raising an eyebrow, Sirius penned a letter back that was equally brief. It’s not like he could say no to his own brother when he asked so nicely.

_Alright. When can I expect you?_

 

* * *

 

His brother sent him no response back.

At work, he was distracted. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in years following their fallout from the war. The potion-thief ended up being the clerk, and he had to pay for the potions he stole. Shortly after Voldemort was defeated, Regulus reinstated him as heir, and he had apparently disappeared off to France with Kreacher, where they continued to maintain their distance.

He’d sent Regulus a Christmas card once when he got drunk. He’d gotten back nothing in return.

Regulus arrived at night, hours after midnight, when the streets of Grimmauld Place were pitch black, and it was darkest before the dawn. Sirius hadn’t expected him that late, and he heard the bell go off at night. Picking his wand from the dresser, Sirius realized that there were a handful of people who would know where Grimmauld Place was, and one of them was his brother.

So five minutes of fumbling in the dark, he opened the front door to see Regulus standing there. Regulus was older now. He’d always looked more like their mother than Sirius did with her jaw, and her sharper eyes, and her nose. There was something unkempt about his hair, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days.

“Thank you for offering,” Regulus said. He pulled in his trunk after him.

Sirius stepped aside with a shrug.

“It’s your home too." He didn’t quite know what else to say to his estranged brother. They never had the best relationship, and they were both on different sides of the war. Regulus glanced back at the dark streets, before pulling the door close behind him.

“Do you have anti-apparition wards up?” he asked. "I suppose it doesn't matter. House-elf magic can bypass anti-apparition wards." 

“Are you calling your house-elf?” Sirius was about to call his own house-elf to help Regulus get settled in.

“It’s just Mipsy,” Regulus replied quietly. “Kreacher and the other house elf were murdered.” 

Sirius raised his eyebrows, and he felt a chill run through him.

“Who attacked you?”

Regulus looked at him and shook his head. “Later, brother. I have company with me,” he said. “I purposely declined to mention in case they intercepted my owl.”

This sounded serious. 

He snapped his fingers, and Sirius raised his eyebrows as Mipsy the elf apparated in. She had a girl with her. The girl was hardly thirteen years old with impossibly bushy hair, and she wore a Beauxbatons uniform, and she had a trunk on the side.

She looked from Sirius to Regulus. Regulus walked up to her, and he wrapped a comforting arm around her. Sirius looked between the two of them, and his brain was working quickly to try and decipher the situation.

“Hermione,” he said. “It’s safe here.” Mipsy patted the girl’s shoulder.

Hermione's face was grubby, and her eyes were red, as if she'd had a good cry, wiped her face, and then cried some more. Sirius blinked several times. He turned to Regulus and he looked at Hermione for answers.

“I suppose introductions are due,” Regulus said. He glanced at Sirius. “Sirius, this is Hermione Granger-Black. She’s my daughter.”

“Hermione,” Regulus told her. He glanced down at her, and she glanced up at him in question. “This is Sirius Black. He’s my brother, and I suppose, your uncle by adoption.”

She was _adopted._

“Pleasure,” the girl said with a voice that didn’t match her expression. She stared up at him through red-rimmed eyes.

“Likewise,” Sirius replied. His voice quaked. When had he become an uncle?

 

* * *

 

After the girl had been tucked into his room—which had become a guest room for Remus or Harry if they came over—Regulus took his own room.

Regulus told him that they would talk in the morning, when the girl was fully awake. She needed to be part of the conversation that they were going to have.

His mind was churning through the reports that Moody had made on Voldemort’s followers after the war. He’d heard the name Granger somewhere.

Where had he heard the name Granger?

And then it occurred to him:

_Follower of Voldemort kills muggle parents to one muggle-born magical baby._

His eyes shot open in the dark.

Granger. _Hermione_ Granger.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Sirius began, and he stared into the face of Alastor Moody in the fireplace who raised an eyebrow. “I have a little family situation here. I’ll most likely be late.”

“Family situation?”

“My brother’s here,” Sirius said tonelessly.  

Alastor gruffly told him that it was noted, and he’d see him in the office in a few hours, and with that, he disappeared from the fireplace. Sirius got up and stretched, and he wondered if he should go down for breakfast. He wouldn't risk seeing Regulus or any awkward interactions at this time in the morning, right? The last time he'd spoken to Regulus, he was young, and Regulus was a brat. They'd fought. 

They weren't brothers. They were strangers, he thought. 

Sirius liked to think he was an early riser, and as he stepped down the staircase at seven in the morning, he saw Regulus and Hermione sitting at the dining table while Mipsy served them breakfast. When Mipsy disappeared into the kitchen, the girl, obviously distressed, turned to Regulus. He waited outside the room to listen in.

“Do I _have_ to go to Hogwarts?” she asked. She had a slight french accent, and it was prominent when she pronounced Hogwarts through her nose. But she didn't seem to have any grammatical mistakes in her speech. “Why can’t you just send me off to Beauxbatons? Madame Maxime would watch over me. Why Hogwarts?”

“You’re better off at Hogwarts,” Regulus said. “Surely you’ve heard of Albus Dumbledore, Hermione? He’s one of the greatest wizards of all time.”

“That was your school?” she asked.

“It was my former school,” he replied.

“It was _her_ school too, wasn’t it?”

Her?

“Yes, I suppose so,” Regulus said. “I don’t know too much about her, to be fair. Just from what you seem to tell me, and from the little association I’ve had with her. I’ve talked about this. Did you get another dream of her?"

The girl frowned a great deal at her breakfast like it had offended her terribly.

“I don’t want to go to Hogwarts,” the girl said with a sniff. “It sounds absolutely terrible. I want to go back to Beauxbatons. I have friends at Beauxbatons.”

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” Regulus said coolly.

Sirius was reminded of a time when he was younger, and Regulus had said the same thing about going to Hogwarts after a fight with Sirius, and their father forked a bit of egg, paused, and said that it was a pity, but he'd have to make do with Sirius as a brother, and he would have to go to Hogwarts too. 

Sirius stepped inside the room, and the two occupants looked up at Regulus.

“Morning,” Sirius said.

“Morning,” Regulus replied. The girl said nothing. She stared down at her plate glumly.

“You’ll have to forgive her,” Regulus told him. “She’s in a bit of a sour mood.”

“I heard,” Sirius said with a raised eyebrow. “I heard that Hermione here is transferring to Hogwarts? Have you spoken to Dumbledore?”

“I’ve written to him of our arrival in England, and I had to notify the ministry that we were using international floo portkeys. But no, not yet,” Regulus said. “I’m sure he’ll make an… exception.”

“Oh?”

“Would you like to accompany us?” Regulus asked him.

Sirius stared at him.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions brother,” Regulus said. “All of which will be answered today in Dumbledore’s office.” Hermione simply folded her arms and glanced back at Regulus. Sirius narrowed his eyes at Regulus like he was a particularly difficult puzzle.

“What did you do in France?”

“I worked as a freelance cursebreaker, Sirius. I acquired Mipsy and Forky a few years later. The latter died in the house-fire along with Kreacher.”

Sirius had never been fond of his mother's elf, Kreacher, but he wasn’t completely heartless. 

“I’m sorry.”  

Hermione looked up at Sirius for the first time. Sirius glanced back at her. She had a bit of an attitude problem, but to the kid, her world was spinning too quickly on her axis, and she probably didn’t feel obligated to give him any attention or respect. Maybe she was incredibly fond of a her house-elves like Regulus.

“I thought you said that Hogwarts’ headmaster isn’t to be trusted!”

“We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Regulus said with a sigh. “Circumstances change. Alliances change. Our house was just burnt down to a crisp, Hermione. What do you think we must do it? You’re a smart girl.”

“Dumbledore’s fine,” Sirius said. “Despite whatever Reggie told you.” He gave his brother a significant look.

For the second time, she glanced up at Sirius, and she wanted to say something, but she pursed her lips up.

“I don’t like him.”

“You’ve never met him,” Sirius said. He leapt to the defense of the old headmaster more out of habit than anything, and he instantly felt guilty when the kid looked taken aback. “You don’t know what he’s like,” he added hastily.

“I—” She glanced up at Regulus, and she closed her mouth stiffly. “Whatever.” They were hiding something suspicious.

“He’s defeated Grindelwald, kid. Did you know? One of the darkest wizards alive,” Sirius asked her.

“I know,” she said. “I read all about it at Beauxbatons in a book called _The History of Magic_. Did you also know that he invented a Bertie Botts flavour?”

“Aren’t you a little bookworm?” Sirius said. Remus and Lily would adore her.

“I’ve ready nearly every book at Beauxbatons. I can read in French and Spanish.”

“Wow.”

“Yes,” she said with the snootiest tone that a thirteen year old could muster. “It’s only to be expected from someone like me.”

Whatever that meant, Sirius thought. 

“Anyway, what house would you like to be sorted into?” he asked her.

“None,” she said. “I’d like to go back to Beauxbatons.”

“Come on,” he said. “Hogwarts isn’t that bad. I’ve been there. So has Reggie.”

‘Reggie’ excused himself to talk to Mipsy in the kitchen.

“I’d like to be sorted into Ravenclaw,” she said in a small voice after a bit of silence. 

Sirius blinked and glanced back at her with a smile.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Well,” she said. “Gryffindor seems like a bunch of idiots.” Sirius’ smile tightened. “Hufflepuff seems too social for my liking.” She paused, and Sirius wondered where she was getting her assessment from. “And well… at Slytherin, they would want me dead,” she said flatly.

Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“I’m a muggleborn,” she said. Sirius kept his face neutral to keep her talking.“Over here, they would play horrible pranks on me, and they would call me a ‘mudblood.’”

And before Sirius could respond, Regulus walked in.

“I told you not to refer to yourself as that word. Or better yet, don’t _use_ that word at all.” He strode over to the table and scraped back his chair with a frown at her.

And what played out was the most bizarre conversation that both shed some light on their relationship and complicated it further.

“You said you used it in school,” she accused him.

“I had a circumstance,” Regulus said. “I told you about that, because I was trying to show you how these people, how purebloods think, so you could defend yourself better against prejudice.”

A regular saint, wasn’t he? Sirius thought as he sipped his tea. This was an interesting turn of events. Come to think of it. How _had Regulus_ wrangled himself out of the trials?

“And I was just telling Uncle Sirius how a house full of snooty purebloods, much like what you were, might see people like me.”

"Not everyone from Slytherin ends up a death eater, and not all of them are snooty purebloods." 

"Yet a lot of people from Slytherin did end up as a death eater, and most purebloods considered Slytherin a house full of 'reputable' and wealthy people," Hermione said. "You did say that." 

Regulus sighed. Sirius glanced back at the precocious girl in surprise.

“I have no argument,” Regulus said after a moment.

She’s got him wrapped around her finger, hasn’t she? Sirius thought.  

“There were Voldemort newspaper cutouts in your room,” she said. Sirius nearly choked on his tea. He hadn’t heard someone say the name in a long time. Well, except for the people he hung around with. And certainly not a thirteen year old girl. 

And to his utter surprise, his brother didn’t flinch.

“I know,” Regulus said. “I haven’t returned home since I was nineteen. Are we going to have this conversation about me where you manipulate me into winning the argument? Imagine this, what if we brought up that one time when you were six and you wet the bed, and I called you a bed-wetter for the rest of your life?”

She stared at him with a scandalized expression. As if to say, how dare you bring up that embarrassing moment in front of present company! 

“You have a point,” she conceded. He did, Sirius thought. In a bizarre way, the girl seemed to trust his brother and she did not peg him as one of those snooty pureblood types or muggle-born-hating death-eaters. She was probably one of those kids who asked a lot of questions, had opinions and challenged everyone and everything. He admired that in the kid even though some adults might not. 

And whether Sirius wondered how his well-spoken, clout-chasing, cowardly brother, who never dared question their mother or father, raised such a kid. 

And like that, Regulus and Hermione lapsed into comfortable silence, and she asked him to pass the sugar.

“I’m still not going to Hogwarts,” she added after a bit, and Regulus ignored her in favor of rifling through the Daily Prophet, and Sirius was reminded of his Father again. 

 

* * *

 

“So,” Sirius said while they were waiting beside the fireplace for Hermione to attend to whatever she needed to do. “Am I truly going to get answers on why you adopted a muggleborn, and how you saw the light, brother?”

Regulus stared into the flames.

“You will,” he said after a moment. "A lot has happened. A lot of things will happen, so you need to know what has _happened_ if we are to move on." 

“Is there something I need to be aware about?” Sirius asked him.

“No, brother. My life is not in any immediate danger, I assure you,” Regulus said. “It’s just that… I have enemies here in Britain. I’m very hesitant to return, but for the Order’s protection—”

“How d’you know about the Order?”

Regulus waited for a moment before answering. Sirius took a step towards him.

“There were spies,” he said quietly. 

“Who?” he demanded.

“Later.”

“Reggie.”

“Later. Please don’t call me Reggie," Regulus said. 

Sirius felt annoyed. What was he supposed to say? Regulus? Brother? 

“I’m here!” Both men turned to see Hermione standing there in her Beauxbatons uniform, and Regulus sent her a raised eyebrow.

“What?” she asked.

“We’re going to floo you over to Dumbledore’s office.”

“Why not apparate?”

“Because we can’t apparate into Hogwarts,” Sirius replied. His eyes never leaving Regulus face, and his mind was racing quickly through all the names and faces of people who were in the Order. He was an _auror._ Moody was a trained _auror._ Did Moody know something about this? How had he not spotted it?

"Oh," she said. "I read that. But can a house-elf apparate into Hogwarts and out?" 

Neither brother answered her. But more importantly, why did his brother wait thirteen years to tell them the truth?

“Now listen carefully,” Regulus said. “You say Headmaster’s office, Hogwarts when you step into the fireplace.” He handed her a bag of floo powder, and she grabbed a fistful. She repeated Regulus’ words, and when she was gone into a burst of green flames, Sirius grabbed him.

“Who was it?”

“Let it go, Sirius,” Regulus said. “Not now.”

“Were they alive or dead?”

Regulus didn’t reply, and he stepped into the fireplace. Two minutes later, both brothers stepped into the office where Hermione was standing beside a phoenix. She was stroking his head, and the phoenix preened against her finger.

“Hullo,” she said. “My name is Hermione.”

“Let’s be respectful and not bother the phoenix,” Regulus said.

“Can we buy a phoenix?”

“I promised you a cat,” Regulus replied. “You can’t keep a Phoenix as a pet.”

Surely enough, Dumbledore walked into the room followed by McGonagall. Both of who stared at the Black brothers and the girl who stood beside the phoenix. She put her arms behind her, and she looked as if she was caught. She looked up in wonder as Albus Dumbledore strode into the room. 

“I see that Fawkes is quite taken with you, Miss Granger-Black,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “He does like the attention, I assure you.”

Hermione smiled shyly.

“It has some to our notice that you never quite responded to our invitation to Hogwarts, and we are… apparently about to find out why, Minerva.”

McGonagall stared at Hermione in her prim Beauxbaton uniform, and she curtseyed before the Headmaster. Dumbledore made three squashy chairs appear. Hermione sat down on one on the end closest to Fawkes. Regulus occupied the one in the middle, and Sirius sat on the one at the end. .

“Well, Sirius,” Dumbledore turned to him. “I think you could leave. I wouldn’t want Alastor to worry about you.”

“I think I’ll stay, Albus,” Sirius replied. “My brother has… an interesting story to tell.”

“I should get to class. The fifth years will be coming in for transfiguration,” McGonagall said. “Surely you could fill me on the relevant information, Albus?”

“Of course, Minerva,” Albus said.

And when the door to the headmaster’s office closed, Dumbledore turned expectantly to Regulus.

“Before we begin, I hope that no information escapes this room,” Regulus said. “It’s a long and complicated story, so please be sure to follow along.”

“You have my confidence, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore replied. He took a seat, and he steepled his chin with his fingers. He glanced from Hermione to Regulus, who took a seat beside her. “I certainly have the time. Severus did inform me that you would be telling me everything.”

“This is a difficult story to tell, and it begins at the end of the war,” Regulus said.

Sirius looked at Regulus. “What does that have to do with Hermione?” He glanced over at the girl who was still stroking Fawkes’ head happily.

“Everything.”

Hermione smiled. Sirius frowned.

“Around mid-1979, Voldemort was defeated,” Regulus said. “But you were an active participant during the war, and you’d heard of an individual who stole wands and sort of rescued the Prewett Brothers?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said. “The mysterious individual who had stolen Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand.”

“This individual is the one who defeated Voldemort.”

“What?” Sirius asked.  

“But Voldemort’s defeat was by Peter Pettigrew, if I am not mistaken,” Dumbledore said cautiously.

“You’re mistaken,” Regulus said. “So is the entire ministry and the magical world and the history books. _"_

Sirius stood up so quickly. “Peter died a _hero!”_

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Let Mr. Black finish.”

“Then get on with it!” Sirius snapped.

“Peter wasn’t a hero,” Hermione began suddenly. And three pairs of eyes were on her. “He was nothing but a rat. A _traitorous rat.”_

Sirius opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and Dumbledore interrupted him.

“Mr. Black, please finish.”  Dumbledore looked gravely between the pair of them, before he turned to Regulus. 

“Peter Pettigrew, regrettably, was a spy for the Dark Lord,” Regulus said. “I could tell you several inside jobs and how Travers managed to permeate the McKinnon’s home.”

“No…” Sirius said. His face went pale. “You can’t be _serious right now.”_

“There was a wand that was left behind, but there was no body,” Regulus continued. “He isn’t dead. Why is he hiding now?”

“There was a body!” Sirius said shakily. “They said he was blown to bits. We held a funeral for him.”

“There wasn’t a body, actually,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“WHAT?”

Sirius whipped around so quickly to look at Dumbledore steeping his chin with his hands. “There wasn’t a body, Sirius. I’m sorry. Peter Pettigrew is still considered _missing_ in official ministry records. Not dead. James suggested that the funeral would give everyone some closure. I believe your brother might have some truth in his story.”

He’d probably been too distraught about Marlene’s death to think at the time. There were so many deaths.

“My brother was also a _death eater,”_ he snarled.

Hermione held onto Regulus’ arm, and Regulus’ expression didn’t change.

“Calm down, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Let’s give your brother the benefit of doubt. There was a wand-snatcher. They had snatched Peter’s wand, and they had rendered the Dark Lord immobile with Peter’s wand. The last spell on Peter’s wand was the killing curse.”

“Actually,” Regulus said. “Peter used the killing curse on this individual after they defeated Voldemort. I know, because I was there.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial full of memory strands. He placed it in front of Dumbledore.

“You could examine it if you like. You both could.”

Dumbledore gingerly picked up the vial, examined it, and he put them down.

“What do you think happened to Peter Pettigrew then?” Dumbledore asked Regulus.

“He disappeared in the fray of the battle with the Dark Lord,” Regulus said. “I was there. I was fighting off Dolohov.”

“And who defeated him?” Dumbledore prodded. “Who was the wand-snatcher who defeated the Dark Lord?”

“Me.”

Three pairs of eyes fell back on Hermione, who straightened her back, and she looked Sirius in the eye. “I defeated Voldemort.”

“You?” Sirius spluttered. “You’re just a kid. You’re like five or something.”

“I’m thirteen. Thank you very much,” she said. “Very mature.” Sirius looked at her as if she’d grown three heads.

“An alternate future’s version of her, actually,” Regulus interrupted. “One who grew up in Britain during two magical wars. She has… altered the timeline, and she has prevented certain events from coming to pass. One of them was… my death.”

Sirius glanced back at him.

Dumbledore was deep in thought, and his eyes fell on Hermione.

“You seem quite aware of this alternate future’s version of events and her experiences.”

“Sometimes,” Hermione said. “I dream of things she was doing.”

“When did it start, dear?”

“Oh! I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I’ve been having these dreams for a while.”

“Okay,” Dumbledore said. “I may be inclined believe it.”

“You are?” Sirius asked him incredulously. “I’m still stuck at the bit that this little kid is...was… a time traveler.”

"Little?" Hermione bristled. 

“We have the memory of the day Voldemort was defeated. We can watch it to double-check if you like before we move forward with this conversation.”

Sirius wanted to double check, and Dumbledore led the two of them to their pensieve, while Regulus and Hermione waited. Sirius placed a muffliato charm around them, and he eyed his brother.

“Do you really believe them?”

“Neither of them have reason to fabricate the story, Sirius,” Dumbledore said gravely. He emptied the contents of the vial into the pensieve, and he stirred it around with his wand. “But we have to make sure.”

And just like that, the office disappeared around them, and a street was formed from the wisps of smoke. Everything was being shaped like a dream. Sirius didn’t quite know what to expect, and Dumbledore calmly watched two individuals in the distance.

“Merlin,” Sirius whispered.

Dumbledore said nothing as a younger Regulus—fresh out of Hogwarts and just like Sirius remembered him—trudged behind a girl with remarkably bushy hair and a ratty sweater and worn out jeans that weren’t the muggle fashion rage at the time. The two of them looked exhausted.

“That’s them, I suppose,” Sirius said. “That’s my brother and the… girl…the older version, apparently.” She looked about twenty or twenty-two? 

“Hermione Granger of the Alternate Universe," Dumbledore said. 

The girl had a scar across her left eyebrow, and her expression was stony. She seemed to be looking over her shoulder every so often.

“We have to find somewhere to rest at night,” his brother was saying. He sounded younger. More unsure. Afraid even. 

She didn’t respond as she kept walking.

“We can’t keep going,” his brother said more insistently. “You can’t keep going.”

“Not yet,” she muttered. “We’re being followed.”

“What?”

“Heads up!”

That’s when a bright flash of light filled the street from what happened to be a blasting curse, and Dolohov followed up the blasting curse with another explosive spell. The cars and the glass off the windows were blasted off, and the doors were blasted off their hinges. Hermione broke into a roll. Regulus fell to the ground. 

Regulus was on his feet dueling Dolohov, and Hermione turned around as—

 _“WHAT THE_ _FU_ —” Sirius half yelled. “Behind you!”

Hermione turned to face Voldemort, who had apparated from thin air with a dangerous grin. She whipped out her wand. She looked afraid. Sirius took a moment to look at Voldemort, and the eye-witness accounts were terrifying enough. But the real thing was monstrous. The man was snake-like with red eyes, and his skin was pale, and he was lean with spindly fingers. He wore robes of black, and his hair was present and parted like he was coming to an evening dinner. 

She didn’t speak when Voldemort spoke to her of what a talented witch she was and what a shame it was.

"Too bad you didn't notice you were being followed until it was too late," Voldemort half whispered. She gripped her wand.

She went straight for a disarming spell which met his killing curse. Regulus was dueling Dolohov and keeping him off. And that didn't make sense to Sirius. How could a killing curse, which was supposedly unblockable, be held back by Expelliarmus. 

Regulus and Hermione were back to back.

Two minutes later, when both parties were engaged in battle, Regulus got lucky.

He managed to disarm Dolohov, and Dolohov was blasted backwards into a building and through the window. Regulus followed it up with ropes. He glanced in Hermione’s direction and hobbled towards them to join the battle. He looked terrified, and he raised his wand.  

“You could defeat me, Voldemort,” Hermione said. She sidestepped one of his spells, and Sirius remarked that her reflexes were excellent. Regulus ducked, and it set a line of cars on fire. “But I’ll return. But you?” She retorted with a spell of her own that Voldemort deflected. “You won’t. You won’t be able to pass on either.”  

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and he cast dark curse after dark curse. Her shields were slowly being overwhelmed, and she staggered back. It was a strange shield, almost polygonal and translucent. Probably a modification. 

She’d transfigured the debris into sharp objects that bolted forward at lightning speed. Voldemort destroyed them with a lazy flick of his wand. Another second later, Regulus took the brunt of a slicing hex—which had happened so quickly that Sirius didn't even see Voldemort  _move_. Neither of them noticed Peter skulking behind the debris, but Sirius did. Dumbledore did too, apparently. 

“No…” Sirius whispered. He stared in horror. Regulus righted himself despite his wounds. 

Regulus took over as Hermione began to perform a complex spell, and Sirius noted anti-apparition wards go up by the barely visible sheen of light rippling through the sky. The Dark Lord was distracted with Regulus, who was putting up a fairly good fight, but he lacked confidence and fumbled a few times. He was bleeding and he nearly staggered back a couple of times.

The two of them had planned this, Sirius thought. He was buying Hermione time. 

That's when Voldemort noticed Hermione. He threw a killing curse in her direction, but Regulus' slicing curse caught him in the wrist, causing his killing curse to fly towards the debris uselessly. He snarled and turned his killing intent towards Regulus. 

Then Hermione performed fiendfyre which took the form of a large raging dragon, and the force of her intent caused it to bear heavily towards Voldemort. Eyes widened, Voldemort made to move, and teleport out. The fiendfyre consumed him, and he turned to ashes with a scream. 

Sirius was about to cheer.

Hermione didn’t see the green-light which hit her. Regulus did. She dropped to her knees and slumped over. 

Peter pointed his wand at Hermione, and he stared at the ashes of Voldemort. Hermione lay still on the ground, and Regulus stumbled forward for her corpse.

“No!” he screamed. The fiendfyre was uncontrollable upon her death, and it exploded through the ruined street. Regulus ducked his head as he clutched her body. And Peter?

Peter dropped his wand and apparated out to avoid the explosion.

Sirius was yanked out of the memory, and he fell back on the floor of the office. He winced and blinked open his eyes. Hermione was crouching over him.

“Are you quite okay?” she asked him. 

Dumbledore stepped out, and he walked over to his desk. Hermione helped Sirius to a sitting position, and he glanced at his brother who met his eyes with an expressionless look. He hadn’t moved from his chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk. 

“It always makes me so angry,” Hermione said then, probably speaking of what they had seen. “To think that you can’t block a killing curse. Did you know that they initially created it to hunt dragons so it could permeate dragon scales and kill them? Dragons!”

 

* * *

 

And the more the story went on, the more convoluted and bizarre it was. Regulus, had gotten upset because Kreacher was almost poisoned, and he had set off to dupe Voldemort. In his dying moments—Sirius glanced at the girl sitting primly on the couch like a proper Beauxbaton student she was—the alternate future Hermione showed up, and she saved his life.

Present Hermione looked suitably smug about the fact that she had defeated the Dark Lord. but Sirius was still reeling from what he had seen. Who was this _woman?_ Was she a dark witch herself?

Peter disappeared in fear, and Dolohov with him. The duel was messy from the beginning to the end. Flashforward two years, Regulus had been in hiding, and he reappeared after Walburga’s death, made Sirius heir, adopted the girl whose parents were killed by Crouch Jr., and they both headed off to France.

Never to be seen for the next thirteen years.

“Our house in France was burnt down a few months ago. More specifically someone burnt it down.”

“Do you have a suspect list?” Dumbledore asked him.

“I do.”

“Why don't you provide me with it?” Dumbledore said to Regulus. “Moody would be delighted to offer you and Miss Granger-Black some protection, Mr. Black. I'm sure Sirius will be willing to take up your case.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said shakily with his head in his hands, while the others watched him sympathetically. “I need a moment.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Regulus said. “After we fled to France, we continued to live out the rest of our lives in relative obscurity. Being a freelance cursebreaker enabled me to change my identity at will and pick and choose who I wanted to work with. It’s been uneventful except for a few close calls. There are _people_ looking for me. All of whom were imprisoned following the war. One of my contacts in England was… Severus.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said. “Interesting. Severus did inform me of you after last year’s incident. He said that a contact in France might know something of it, more specifically.”

“Snape?” Sirius asked. “You expect me to believe that _Snape_ wasn't a tosser?”

“He had been quite helpful during the war,” Dumbledore replied. “He was my double agent.”

Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder with a snooty look. “Mr. Snape is quite a delightful man if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” Sirius said snappily.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and Sirius made a face at her. Regulus turned to Dumbledore with a long suffering sigh at their display of maturity.

“Horcruxes,” Regulus said. “We are here to discuss horcruxes. Something which we are _both_ looking for.”

Dumbledore steeped his chin and nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “It was a point of interest last year when someone had planted a teenage Tom Riddle’s diary in our school and prompted a series of events which were rather unfortunate. Thankfully, the girl was reported by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, who found her beheading Hagrid’s roosters. She then reported that there was a diary. Tom Riddle’s diary which was a horcrux.”

“Snape informed me,” Regulus said. “One of the reasons I’m back in England. I have reason to believe that Voldemort’s not dead.”

Sirius coughed loudly. “Is this a joke?”

“It most assuredly isn’t,” Hermione told him. 

“Do you even know what horcruxes are?” Sirius asked her.

She nodded sagely. “Awful things, aren’t they?”

“Do you know where they are?” Dumbledore said.

“I have destroyed one,” Regulus replied. “But for the rest, Hermione knew where the rest were. She only stated that there were five at the time." Sirius coughed loudly. "I was of course not to be trusted, being a former death-eater and her mission was dependent on their destruction. She trusted very few people. I don’t think she could complete it.” Regulus glanced at Hermione who looked down at her knees.  

“I see,” Dumbledore said. He glanced over at Hermione over his half-moon glasses. “So Miss Granger-Black would know where the rest of them are, I suppose, through the memories… of her alternate self’s.”

Hermione stared back at Dumbledore.

“I suppose so,” Regulus said. He put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I have good reason to believe that the alternate self had sent forward her memories into the future in the event that she should die… or perhaps she planned to die. She had _intended_ to delay the Dark Lord.”

“She didn’t have time,” Hermione said. “It seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my dudes.  
> This is not beta'ed, and I wrote it at 3 am in the morning. I mean that's what happens when you become an adult like you start trying to adult and like get no time to write  
> So its not gonna be top notch writing, i'm sorry  
> It's pureee wish fulfillment (I mean isn't all fanfiction wish fulfillment in one way or the other?)  
> Hermione isn't quite ooc, she's shaped by her circumstances and this is AU.  
> Also I rlly don't know if I'll be able to complete this, but I'll try my best!!! If I don't, I won't spare y'all the suspense and future readers from the torment and frustration, and I'll offer it up for adoption or delete it.  
> Also i'm like canadian so like we canadian folk had the misfortune of being in the middle of the great english war between america and britain. Go easy on me lol, I just know a few words from a mishmash of my mum's british english and books  
> Thank you for giving it a chance, my dudes. I don't like to disappoint, and I hope I don't!!


	2. Chapter 2

While Regulus was handling Hermione's transfer paperwork with Dumbledore, Hermione excused herself to the loo. She passed a distraught Sirius on her way out.

He was stared down at the space between his feet. Hermione suspected it would have been hard to accept the evidence. Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be his friend, right? 

The castle was a looming memory in Hermione’s mind, even though she had no experience of it as she wandered through the upper levels trying to find a loo. She could hear the sounds of children chattering through the corridors, and for the second time that evening, she was regretting wearing that Beauxbatons uniform.

An older girl stared at her as she passed by. When Hermione called out to her, she jumped.  

“Erm…” Hermione said. “Could you direct me to the girl’s bathroom?” The girl pointed in the direction without another word, and she couldn’t take her eyes off Hermione’s pointy blue cap. “Erm…Thanks.”

She didn’t have _that_ bad of an accent, did she? While she grew up in France, she spoke French as a second language. The girls in her year tittered about how accented her French was, but they were prissy and rude and had nothing in their heads, in Hermione's honest opinion. 

She found Sirius waiting outside the girls bathroom. He cleared his throat.

“My brother said that the paperwork will take a while. I asked him his permission, and I was wondering if you wanted a tour around the castle?”

“Sure,” she said.

Sirius scratched the back of his neck in an effort to look more meek, and it reminded her of how Regulus’ clients would talk to her as if she was five. 

He led her down the spiraling staircase and through the corridors, occasionally gesturing to places and classrooms, which he had classes in, and he talked about education at Hogwarts, which she doubted he really cared about while he was in school based on the pranks. 

The sense of familiarity returned again when she glanced down the corridors. This sense of familiarity wasn't hers. It was the  _other_ Hermione's. 

 _“You have to learn how to separate,”_ Snape told her once during their weekly occlumency lessons during the summer. _“Separate between that other Granger woman and yourself. Her memories aren’t exactly sentient, and neither is it like glimpsing into a pensieve at will. You have to know who you are_ —”

“Hermione?”

“— _and what you are to do with them precisely.”_

“Yeah?” she asked him.

“Do you trust my brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said. He steered her into a corridor. “I mean... never mind.”

“I do. Trust him that is,” she said. “Don’t you?” she shot back. “He’s your brother after all, isn’t he? You’re family, aren’t you?”

He looked slightly conflicted. “All my life, I’ve known my brother as a death eater who managed to weasel it out of the trials. Yes, he’s family, but I’ve never had the best experience with family. My mother kicked me out of—” He paused. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be talking about this to you. You’re quite young.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said. “You’re like thirteen. Hell. What was I doing when I was your age besides rowing with my mother and faffing around with my mates at school but—”

He stopped talking when she swiveled in front of him and pointed her wand at him. 

“Apologies, Uncle Sirius, but there is something I need to confirm before we are to go forward.”

Sirius stared at the tip of her wand.

“If you’re weak, you get weeded out by Voldemort, if not his followers,” she said. “Do you truly trust me and my Father?”

He blinked at her, and then he raised an eyebrow. He was hardly threatened by her. Well, he _was_ an auror. He could wandlessly disarm her if he wanted.

“If I said no, what would you do?”

“Obliviate you,” she replied.

He stared at her.

“You don’t know how to perform that spell.”

“You have _no_ idea what I’m capable of doing,” she replied. “Regulus trained me to duel since I was quite young. I mean, fine. If you don’t trust me to perform the spell correctly, wouldn’t that be _worse_ for you?”

She grinned at him. He frowned back at her.

“Trust you both?” he repeated. “I barely know you both.” He grabbed her wrist. She didn’t let him budge her. “Stop pointing that _thing_ at me. You’re telling me that my _friend_ —someone who I trusted more than my own family— _Peter,_ turned tail on us.”

“Find him then,” she replied. “Dumbledore certainly seems to believe us. Isn’t that enough?”

“But there’s no evidence.”

“The memory—”

“—could have been tampered with,” Sirius replied. “How many memories do you think I have looked through as an _auror_?”

She continued to point her wand at him. He did have a point, didn't he? 

“And it’s possible that you could have been hoodwinked into believing this farce too,” he continued.

That got her angry. What did he know? She was about to give him a piece of her mind. Her _Father_ didn’t _have_ to raise her. He didn’t have to take care of her. But he chose to. He chose to leave it all behind. He decided to _fight_ for what’s right!

What the hell did he know?

“What on earth is going on here?” The lady, Minerva, interrupted them. They both turned around to see her.

“Nothing Minerva,” Sirius replied. “I was just giving Hermione a tour of the castle.”

She gave Hermione a pointed look, who still had her wand raised and pointed at Sirius.

_“Colovaria!”_

And Sirius’ beard and hair turned a bright yellow. He held his beard, and he drew out his wand to turn it to the right color as she burst into peals of laughter.

“Sorry Professor,”  Hermione said with a grin. “I felt like his current color didn’t suit his personality.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at her, not missing the insult in the double entendre.

The Professor walked past them, and she headed up the spiral staircase. She gave Hermione another assessing glance, before she turned away.

“She might not like me very much,” Hermione said.

“Oh, she’ll like you, alright,” Sirius muttered. “You performed the color charm beautifully.”

“Thank you!”

Sirius exhaled. This kid was dangerous. What had his brother been teaching her? She just pulled her wand on her full grown auror. 

“I’m just curious,” she added after a bit. “How do you know that the memory was tampered?”

He glanced back down at her.

“Well,” he said. “You could possibly charm one to have different events. For starters, that could have been your previous self… or Reggie who killed Peter Pettigrew.”

It didn’t work that way, Hermione thought. She was seven when she ran into her father’s study, bawling her eyes out, and she threw herself into his arms. He asked her what was wrong. She said she dreamt of dying. She was facing a menacing dark wizard.

He had stiffened.

It wasn’t a dream. He gripped her shoulders, and she'd stopped crying, and she was looking into his terrified face, and he asked her to tell him more. 

They lapsed into silence, and she trailed behind him. He broke the silence with anecdotes of incidents that had happened during his time as the Marauders. Hermione thought that was a stupid and childish name.

“But you are a _child.”_

“And you’re like fifty,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be acting your age?”

“Thirty-three! I beg your pardon, Miss. I’m at my prime. And what is the matter with you? Being a Marauder is the has the highest honor and dignity.”

“Clearly we differ in matters of honor and dignity.”

“You’re my brother’s kid through and through,” he said.

She was about to ask him what he meant by that when—

“Hiya Pads! Whatcha doing here?”

“And here” —Sirius turned around to see a boy, her age, but with ridiculous messy hair that jutted out in odd directions— “Is an example of a inducted member of the Marauders Society. We call him Prongslet.” The boy was wearing a _uniform_ loosely, and his tie was askew. Not that he noticed it.

He pushed up his glasses up his nose, and he was followed by a gangly red-headed boy with freckles. They both seemed excited to see ‘Padfoot’ and they _strutted_ up to the pair of them.

“What are we talking about?” the boy asked. He looked between her and Padfoot. “Who’s this?”

She really didn’t want to introduce herself, and she _knew_ that from her memories that this was—

“Harry, Ron,” Sirius said. “This is my niece, Hermione.”

“Pleasure,” she said politely. They looked grubby as if they were picking out mandrakes or pottering around the garden.

"Didn't know you had a niece, Pads," Harry said. 

"Now, I do." 

“Are you from Beauxbatons?” she heard the other boy asked her. “What’re you doing here at Hogwarts?”

“I’m here for a visit,” she said.

“She’s attending soon,” Sirius said. “Her father’s processing paperwork upstairs in Dumbledore’s office.”

She shot him a dirty look.

“Cool. Welcome to Hogwarts,” Harry turned to Sirius like that was that. “Dad’s not letting me buy the Firebolt.”  

“Why?”

“Mum’s got his hands tied. She doesn’t want to repeat an incident like last year where I was kind of uhhh… got attacked by a rogue bulger.”

“Oh, Lily,” Sirius said. “She’s still hung up on that. That was a bad joke, and I bet you repaid them with a better one.”

“Oh yea, that git, Malfoy? He got slashed by a hippogriff today in Care of Magical Creatures. Funniest story ever,” Harry said. “He was screaming about how he was going to die.”

Ron chortled, and by the end of the story the two boys were in tears. Sirius Black, head of the Black house and adult at his prime, was grinning too. 

The poor boy Malfoy had gotten slashed by an angry hippogriff, she was sincerely considering walking up to the Headmaster’s office and asking them to stop the paperwork right that moment. She was so scandalized. What sort of school had she ended up in?

Two minutes later, the boys left for class, because Sirius told them that they would be late, and he didn’t want to make them late or Lily would have his head.

“See you er…” Harry said.

“Monday, probably,” Sirius said.

“Don’t get sorted into Slytherin, and I’ll probably never talk to you,” Ron told her.

“I’ll try not to,” Hermione said with a hint of sarcasm. “Although, I’m keeping an open mind.”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “Firstie,” they said at the same time.

“I’m not a firstie!” she called after them.

“Charming, aren’t they?” Hermione told Sirius, who found the whole affair rather amusing. “Friends of yours?”

“My godson, actually,” Sirius corrected. “Charming, isn’t he?” He wagged an eyebrow at her, and she spluttered that he was _not,_ and he asked her if she wanted to inducted into the Marauder’s society. She would have to prove herself, to which she replied that he was childish and stupid.

“Childish?” Sirius said. “Why! Miss Granger-Black! What a preposterous claim! Mr. Padfoot is greatly insulted!”

Hermione flushed with embarrassment as the students chuckled around her.

“Mr. Padfoot,” she heard. “You are a grown man. Stop embarrassing yourself in the middle of the corridor.” This was accompanied by further chuckles, and Hermione turned around to see a rather shabbily dressed man with a thin scars littering his face and a pleasant smile. He had a worn out face. He carried heavy books underneath his arms, and he hobbled towards them.

He had kind eyes, Hermione noted. She really liked the professor’s kind and intelligent eyes. But she didn’t contemplate that for long when Sirius marched up to the man and threw an arm around his neck.

Sirius walked up to him.

“Moony! Old pal!”

Moony? Who came up with that one?

“Hurry along now,” Lupin told the rest of the students who had stopped to watch. Half of them were ogling a very self-conscious Hermione like she was a misplaced hippogriff, and they were whispering about her. “You all have classes to attend.”

“Yes, Professor Moony,” one of the red-heads in the crowd shouted out.

Sirius grinned. Moony sighed. Hermione glanced curiously at the boy who’d yelled. Why! If he was in Beauxbatons, he would get rapped over the head with a heavy book for such disrespect—

“Moony,” Sirius said. “I present my niece, Hermione Granger-Black. She’ll be attending Hogwarts shortly” —not if she could help it— “as a new student. How old are you?” Hermione  wanted to step on his foot with her heavy mary janes.. “Ten.”

“ _Thirteen, you_ — _"_

“Thirteen,” Sirius repeated cheerfully.

Lupin looked amused and confused, because yes, typically most people knew the ages of their nieces and nephews, or because he never knew that Sirius’ brother had a daughter. But  Regulus too hadn't talked much about his brother either. Hermione just knew that he existed. 

“Pleasure,’ he said. “It would be a pleasure to teach you. It’s Professor Lupin, by the way.”

He had really brown eyes, Hermione thought. He offered a hand which she took with a flush to her cheek, because he had a kind smile too.

“N-Nice to meet you.”

Professor Lupin headed off to his classroom, and Hermione felt herself blush when he smiled again. Sirius was about to turn around, and she caught his sleeve.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re not going to tell your friends about what happened today, are you? It’s not time yet.”

Sirius looked slightly miffed. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I told you… I can’t believe it myself… I don’t know whether they’d even believe this.” He didn’t see the slightly hurt look on Hermione’s face, and she felt anger bubble up. “I need time, alright?” he said. 

“If Peter Pettigrew is found, will you believe me?” she asked him. “Will you believe us?”

He looked at her quickly. “I suppose. I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I need to talk to Regulus some more, and I need some time to think it over…”

Think over it? She thought. He didn't trust her! The tension was thick between the two of them.

“Let’s go back. Maybe they might be expecting us,” Sirius said.

Maybe, Hermione thought, they would all hate her. She was the bearer of bad news. Maybe her uncle would hate her if he believed her. 

 

* * *

 

Sirius stayed back to talk to Dumbledore, while Regulus and Hermione flooed out of Dumbledore’s office and into Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron.

Regulus pushed open the exit of Leaky Cauldron, and he felt a rush of familiarity as he looked down the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. In the years that followed, he left England for France, and he’d been back maybe once or twice to managed his affairs at Gringotts or transfer money between accounts. Diagon Alley reminded him of his childhood at Hogwarts or as a rookie Death Eater underneath a hood.  

His mother shopped with him most of the time at Diagon Alley. She dragged him and Sirius from store to store to get their robes, books and whatever they needed until their fourth year. During their fifth year, Sirius went shopping alone with James. After that, James and Sirius were practically inseparable like brothers, and it often made his blood boil with anger, betrayal and perhaps jealousy.

Perhaps he was jealous of Potter, and he’d went off to try and join a brotherhood which accepted ‘his kind.’ Perhaps he was trying to prove to Sirius that his mother was right all along.

Whatever it was, it all went downhill so quickly at the time, and he was lying on the cave floor, being dragged down the lake by inferi when it dawned on him that this was it. Sirius would _never_ know. It was all for naught. Who gave a rat’s arse about brothers or blood or whatever, when they were all going to die at the hands of a madman anyway.

“Sirius doesn’t believe us or trust us.”

Regulus glanced down at Hermione.

“What do you mean?”

“He asked me if I _really_ trust you, because well…you were a death-eater.”

“That’s news to you?” he asked. He glanced at the shop names. There were some new shops around here. “Let’s get your robes.”

“It’s not news to you?” Hermione said. “Why! He’s just so pompous and rude!”

“Hermione.”

“He was even mean about Mr. Severus.”

“Severus and your uncle have been at odds since their school days. I don’t expect either of them to outgrow their enmity anytime soon,” Regulus said.

“He said we manipulated the memories.”

“He’s an auror, and he has every reason to be suspicious,” Regulus replied.

“He’ll pose a threat to you,” she said in a small voice. “To us. We need to make him believe.”

“It’s going to be hard,” Regulus said.

He reached for the handle of the shop but stopped.

He glanced through the window of _Madame Malkins Robes for All Occasions_ , and he found a familiar woman with long blonde hair talking to the owner of the shop. She was older but she still remained the same. Of all the people, he would see when he returned back to England, she was the one person who he wanted to avoid the most—his cousin, Narcissa Malfoy. In fact, that’s exactly what he would do.

He grabbed Hermione’s shoulder, and she gave him a questioning look.

“Maybe we ought to get your textbooks first.” He steered her in the direction of the shop.

“So you trust him?” she asked after a moment.

“We’re staying in the same house,” Regulus said. “As long as he doesn’t sell us out to the Dark Lord—which he’s highly unlikely to do—we’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

“But will you be fine?” Hermione asked him.

“I’m not upset that he thinks I’m a death eater, Hermione,” Regulus said. “Think about it for a second. Do you believe someone who’s played for the other side with unswerving confidence? I could be a threat. He’s an auror. Suspicion is part of the job description. He was probably digging for treachery and details between you and me.”

“I trust you.”

Regulus’ lips twitched.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’d have a problem if you didn’t.”

She let him drag her over to the bookstore before asking him.

“Who are we avoiding?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t go wandering off.”

She was a sharp girl with an attitude, and Regulus knew that she was past the age where he’d tell her what to do and where to go, and she wouldn’t question it. But Hermione knew when danger was imminent.

When they entered the book shop, Regulus didn’t quite expect to see a woman with red hair carting around a pile of books. A very familiar woman. He couldn’t quite place her. Was she one of Sirius’ friends back at Hogwarts? Well, Regulus thought. That didn’t quite matter.

“Hello,” she said muffled voice as she tried to fit the books into the shelves. “Give me a moment.”

She swiveled around, and her green eyes met his. Recognition struck and he remembered a red-head who Potter pined over back during their school days. This was… his eyes flashed over to the name tag on her chest. Lily Potter. Lily Evans.

“May I help you?” she asked him. She didn’t recognize him, and it was probably better that way.

“Do you have your list, Hermione?” Regulus turned to Hermione. The woman glanced curiously as Hermione took out Dumbledore’s letter, and she handed it over to her. Lily read through the letter quickly, and she glanced back at the girl.

“You’re going to your third year.”

She headed over to the shelves.

“Third year,” she repeated. “The semester’s already begun. We’re nearly over a month in.”

“She’s getting a late start,” Regulus replied.

“Pardon my curiosity,” she said. “I have a son who’s in his third year as well, and he’s currently at Hogwarts as well.”

“What’s his name?” Hermione asked her.

“Harry,” the woman replied. She pulled out a thick volume of books, and she tucked one of them underneath her arm. “Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I’ve met him.”

“Have you?” Lily said. “I apologize first of all if he was rude and unseemly, and if he _was_ rude or unseemly, I will make sure to remind him of his manners. That’s his father and his godfather's influence, you know?”  

Regulus tried not to laugh.

“He wasn’t!” Hermione said in a cheerful voice. “But in future, I will make sure to let you know.”

Smart girl, Regulus thought. Hermione stared at the woman like she was trying to figure out a person in a photograph.

Lily headed up to the second floor of the bookstore, and she called out.

“What house are you in?”

“I’m a transfer actually. Beauxbatons.”

“Sorry,” the woman said. She popped her head over the railing.  “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“A school in France,” Hermione replied.

“You’ll be sorted in then?” Lily said. “What house are you hoping for?”

“Anywhere away from your son,” Hermione muttered under breath. Regulus gave her a sharp look. “I mean, Ravenclaw!”

“The sorting hat actually wanted to put me into the Ravenclaw, you know? Oh! Blast it! I might have to check the storeroom for this book. We might actually be out of stock.”

Just right then, a young girl, maybe about ten or eleven, ran inside. She couldn’t have been eleven, Regulus deduced, or she’d be carted off to Hogwarts. She had black hair and bright green eyes, and she wore muggle clothes. She stared at the pair of them with wide eyes. She held up a textbook and a notebook of sorts to her chest, and she was chewing the end of her pencil.

Hermione used to do that when she was younger, before he’d banned sugar quills out of fear that she would get ink poisoning—accidentally incase the quill she was chewing wasn’t a sugar quill.

“Mum!” Emilia called out.

“Just a moment, Emilia,” Lily said. “Do you mind waiting for a bit while I go get your books?” Regulus and Hermione shook their heads, and in Lily stepped down her ladder and she disappeared through the shelves in the top floor.

Hermione was reading the titles of her Third year books out loud, and the Potter girl stared at the pair of them with curiosity.

Regulus smiled at her.

“Are you shopping for school?”

“I am,” Hermione replied. She glanced up from her list.

“Aren’t you a month late?”

“I certainly am,” Hermione replied. “But it can’t be helped.” Regulus perused the books on the shelf.

“What’s your name?” Emilia asked her.

“Hermione,” she replied. “Hermione Granger-Black. You?”

“Emilia Potter,” she replied. “I’m going to Hogwarts next year, if you were wondering. Now, I just help mum around the shop and do my sums. I go to a muggle school, you know?”

“Do you now?” Hermione asked her. “I’ve never been to a muggle school.” She hadn’t. She had a private tutor in languages and math and magical subjects. “Do you need help with your sums?”

“Yes, please.” Emilia said. Regulus watched as the two girls headed over to the coffee table and couch in the middle of the shop.

Evans was taking a while in the back trying to find a spare textbook.

He glanced back at the books on time-travel magic. He looked through the first page, and he began to read while the girls chattered in the background about sums and France and Beauxbatons and Winged Horse Racing.

The door to the shop opened. And Regulus whipped around to see a man with long, blonde-white hair stepping in with a cane. Lucius Malfoy gave him a cool assessing glance.

“Regulus Black.”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

He walked up to him amiably. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Twelve, thirteen years?”

“Indeed.”

Lucius looked around at Flourish and Blotts. “It’s been a while since I’ve stepped in here. The management of this store has deteriorated.”

The store was in perfect order, Regulus thought. The books were placed well, and the shelves gleamed. He wasn’t referring to the state of the store. He glanced back at Lucius with a tight smile. 

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“How have you been?” he asked him. He glanced over his shoulder at two children at the counter. “Narcissa is nearby. Why don’t you come in for tea while you’re in the area?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty occasion for that another time, Lucius,” Regulus replied. “But I am busy at the moment.”

“May I ask why?”

“Shopping.”

Lucius arched an eyebrow, and he glanced between the two girls pouring over books on the couch in the middle of the shop. They had stopped to observe the conversation.

Right then, Lily stepped in. “I’m sorry I—” She glanced at Lucius, and she turned to Hermione with a tight smile. “I’m sorry. There’s no more copies at the back.”

“That’s fine,” Regulus said. “Dumbledore had warned me of that. We can put in an order for it. I’m sure Hermione could get it owled to her.”

“Of course,” Lily said.

“If you would like,” Lucius said. His eyes were now on Hermione, who stared back defiantly at him. “There’s a much more reputable store down the street.” Lily Potter crossed her arms, and her eyes flashed. 

“Thank you, Lucius, but we’ll be fine,” Regulus said.

“And who is this?” he asked Regulus. His eyes were on Hermione.

“Hermione Granger-Black,” she replied. Her eyes darted over to Regulus. Lily looked from Hermione to Regulus with one disbelieving swivel. She’d _finally_ recognized him.

“I wasn’t aware that you married,” Lucius said.

“I didn’t. She’s my daughter by adoption.”

Lucius seemed to appraise her. “Is she of…magical heritage?” Lucius had a son, didn’t he? Regulus knew he was calculating the potential "union" of their families at some point. 

But before Regulus could ruin his calculations, Hermione interrupted their conversation.

“Her parents—” Regulus closed his eyes as Hermione spoke of herself in the most uppity tone she could muster—or perhaps she was imitating Lucius. “—were muggles as far as she knew.”

Lucius blinked several times when he turned to look at Regulus as if he was slapped, and then he narrowed his eyes at the girl.

But there was a reason why his mother tied his tongue when he was younger. Lucius would probably go out to the entire magical community and let them know of this development. He’d hidden her in France for thirteen years. Away from nosy relatives. Away from pureblood gossip. Away from English politics. He missed Paris and solitude.

“Yes,” he replied. “Her parents were muggles. I’m sure that changes nothing.” He gave Hermione a sharp look.

“Has the House of Black truly fallen?” Lucius half whispered. “Pledged to be _Always Pure_?”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione asked him. She cupped her ear. 

Lucius turned to her with a frown. “Children ought to be quiet and respectful. Where are your manners?”

“Intact,” she said. “Have you left yours at the door?”

“Hermione,” Regulus warned. She fell silent. He turned to Lucius, and he held his steely gaze. “The Blacks and the Malfoys have had a long and excellent history. However, if you continue to insult my daughter, I will not continue to extend the same courtesy.”

Lucius gave him a long and calculative look.

“My apologies. Have a good day then.” He turned on his heel, and he headed over to the door, and he slammed it. The frames of the previous managers of the shop cursed as they were topped over in their pictures. Lily righted the frames with a flicker of her wand.

“Good riddance," she huffed. 

Regulus turned to Lily, and he said, “My apologies for that disturbance.”

She gave him a contemplative look.

“No need,” she said. “The Black Family owns this store since they bought it from Flourish and Blotts nearly eight years ago, Lord Black.”

“I’m not Lord Black,” he said. “My brother is. I’m just a customer trying to get my daughter’s supplies.”

Lily gave him an amicable smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She wrapped whatever books Hermione needed, and she watched from the corner of her eye as Hermione showed Emilia how to do her sums. The two girls had gotten quite chummy in the short span of time that they knew each other.

“In France,” Hermione was saying. “I learned Arithmancy in my second year. In France, we’re a year ahead, and this is why I know all this. We have only _six_ years, you know? Hogwarts has seven.”

“Wow,” Emilia said. “You must be very smart. Mummy’s the smartest ever. She graduated with nine Neets.”

“NEWTs, darling,” Lily corrected absentmindedly as she wrote down the order. 

Regulus perused the collection of books. Lily kept giving him half glances. It was probably _unbelievable_ that a bigoted pureblood family famed for the _Toujours Pur_ motto had adopted a muggleborn. Well, what did it matter to him or Hermione? He wasn’t Lord Black. He wasn’t interested in his family ideals any more, not since he threw away his life for his house elf.

They left the shop with a thank you and nod. Emilia was slightly subdued at the loss of her new friend, and Lily kept staring at the pair of them as they left.  

“Bye Emilia!” Hermione said and waved. “I’ll see you soon, I suppose.”

“Thank you for helping me. Would you like to have ice cream later?” Emilia wasn't keen on letting her new friend go. Lily looked startled before Emilia glanced up at her mother with a pleading expression. 

Hermione glanced up at Regulus. She seemed reluctant to let go of her new friend as well. 

“I don’t know if we’ll have the time…”

“Maybe if we’re really quick? Didn’t you want to go to Gringotts? It’s so boring in Gringotts! I’d rather spend the time with Emilia.”

Regulus didn’t like the idea of Hermione off by herself just days after the attack. But she also didn’t have too many friends back in France, and he didn't set up too many playdates. Despite the dangers of this new world, Regulus wanted to cultivate a sense of independence in her. He’d trained her to watch her food or drink in public at all time. He’d trained her to duel at a young age. He’d trained her to be mindful of her surroundings. 

Perhaps he needed to trust her a bit. He glanced up at Lily. “If Mrs. Potter doesn’t mind.” Perhaps, this was an opportunity to make some friends? 

“I don’t,” Lily replied with a slow smile. “If the two of you are free today, come by. We’ll be here till seven.”

“Maybe when we’re done with all our shopping then,” Regulus replied.  

Hermione and Emilia shared excited glances. Regulus felt his heart break. She hadn’t had too many childhood opportunities to make friends, and she didn’t meet too many kids her age until she got to Beauxbatons. And even then…

“Sorry,” Hermione said as they left. “I should have held my tongue and let you handle it. But he’s such a pig! He was insulting Emilia’s mother! She was so nice too!”  

“Her name is Lily Evans. Potter now,” Regulus told her. “She graduated Hogwarts with nine NEWTs, and she was in your Uncle Sirius’ year. You’ll be seeing her a lot more while we stay at Grimmauld Place. They are friends.”

“She seems familiar,” Hermione said.

Regulus didn’t comment on it as he vanished her large  bundle of textbooks to Grimmauld Place. Two minutes later when they were walking over to the Apothecary to get the list of items on her potions list, Hermione spoke up again.

“Are you angry with me for my rudeness?”

He glanced back at Hermione. In ways, she had always reminded him of Sirius.

“I can’t be angry with you. You stood up for yourself. That’s not a flaw. But sometimes for the sake of security, perhaps you shouldn’t have attracted his attention.”

“Does this change a lot?” she asked.

Regulus wasn’t sure. “If anything is to be believed of the Malfoys, they would not be caught dead insulting muggleborns in front of reputable company. In the trials, he’s publicly denounced the Dark Lord,” he said with a wry smile. “Few people care, and those who do, are mostly imprisoned or holed up in their manors. Perhaps you won’t be getting any marriage bethrotals from some pompous son of a pureblood family, and that’s quite fine with me.”

“That’s quite fine with me too,” Hermione replied with a grin. “I’d rather marry a squid than a snob.” She flipped her curls over her shoulder.

Regulus smiled. He plucked the letter out from his pocket.

“Also,” he said. “Trust me on this. No one disparages my daughter in front of me.”

She looked down at her shoes and didn’t answer. But he could tell that there was a curve of a smile.

 

* * *

 

When they had finished their shopping for supplies, Regulus ended up taking Hermione to the Magical Menagerie, where they browsed for a pet. Her father had promised her a cat. But he seemed to be attracted to the owls and their practicality.

“An owl is quite useful,” Regulus was saying. He glanced at the black owl. “This one looks like Benedict.”

Hermione wasn’t deterred. The pet shop, from Hermione’s memories, was familiar. She was looking for a particular animal. It wasn’t an owl. But then she was distracted by a rather large, monstrous cat with a squashed face. She squealed. He seemed to be quite important to her.  

She didn’t know why she felt like he was important.

“You can have him for free,” the shopkeeper said. “Beastly thing. Take it. No one has wanted him since forever.”

“Are you _quite_ sure that you want this cat?” Regulus asked her.

“Oh, I’m _sure.”_ Hermione picked him up from the cage, and the large cat looked lazily from her to Regulus. “Look at him. Isn’t he adorable!”

Regulus didn’t comment when she held the cat with the squashed face up to him. He insisted on paying for the cat.  Hermione walked out of the store with a cage in her hand. She held up the cat in her other arm. Regulus vanished the cage and all her bags to Grimmauld Place.

“I have a name,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Crookshanks!”

“Well,” he said. “At least, you didn’t want to name him Titus Andronicus.”

Hermione glowered. “That’s _an_ awful name. I’d name him Hamlet or Othello!”

She named their old cat Julius Ceasar, which got shortened to Jules. She then pretended to be Brutus, and she told the cat that he was to act as if he was betrayed. 

“I have to go to Gringotts for a bit,” Regulus said. He eyed the cat. “Would you like to visit the bookstore and that young lady? Why don’t you both go get some ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s—the shop I mentioned on the way here.” He dropped a few galleons into her hand.

Hermione stared at him in wonder.

“You’re letting me gallivant off by myself?”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Of course not,” he said. He tapped her bracelet on her hand. “If anything or you notice _anyone_ following you, you know what to do to let me know you are in danger.”

Hermione beamed at him.

“Okay!” Regulus told her he'd pick her up after an hour or two, depending on how long the goblins took. If he was later than that, she needed to go to Leaky Cauldron, and use their floo channel to get home. He warned her not to wander around carelessly. 

She hummed as she held Crookshanks up to her chest, and she spoke to the cat.

“Who's the best cat in the world? You are!" 

Crookshanks looked at her as if he understood her. What an intelligent cat! Hermione thought 

Crookshanks seemed content to let her carry him around through the crowded Diagon Alley towards Flourish and Blotts as she introduced herself to him. She knocked the door and waved at Emilia through the window. Emilia came out a moment later, and Lily Potter was behind her. 

“Hello, again,” Lily said. Lily was looking at her differently now. Like she was a puzzle or something. She'd probably asked Sirius about them. What did Sirius say? My death-eater brother and his poor adopted muggleborn—pardon her, _mudblood?_   She felt annoyed. 

“Hello, Mrs. Potter,” Hermione said. “Do you mind if I take Emilia to the ice cream shop?”

“Yes, of course,” Lily said. “Don’t be out too late now.” She reached inside her purse. 

“That’s fine!” Hermione said. “I have some money from my father.”

“Oh!” Lily said a bit hesitantly. “Well… Emilia, be sure to thank him when you meet him…”

“Bye, Mum,” Emilia said as she ran over to the door.  “Oh! That’s a gorgeous cat.”

“Isn’t he?” Hermione gushed. “He’s a half-Kneazle. His name is Crookshanks.”

“Can I hold him?”

"Of course! If he likes you, that is." 

On their way to the ice cream shop, the two girls fussed over the cat, and Hermione loudly pronounced Crookshanks as the most intelligent cat of all cats. Crookshanks seemed to enjoy all the attention he was given.

“Oh! I’ve always wanted a cat. Mum had a cat when we were younger. My brother said that I had put makeup on it once, and I’ve tried to shave off his fur.”

Hermione blinked. She looked down at the smaller girl with a snort of laughter. Crookshanks looked at the girl warily.

“That’s rather mean!”

“He was fine,” she said. 

The two of them ended up inside Florean Fortescue, and Emilia asked her if she wanted to sit on the sunlit porch, and Hermione wanted to sit inside.

“It’s cooler inside,” she said. “I don’t want to sit out in the sun.” It was cloudy, but Emilia didn't catch up on Hermione's lie. She followed Hermione in. 

After they fussed over flavours, Emilia bought herself a large, triple chocolate cone which was so sickeningly sweet, it would make you throw up. It was supposed to melt and bubble in your mouth with every bite without scalding your mouth. Emilia found it delightful. Hermione helped herself to the sparkling vanilla topped with sprinkles. It made your tongue glitter, and the sprinkles danced around in your mouth. 

The two of them took a seat in the corner table—away from windows, Hermione thought—but she had a clear view of the window and of everything in the shop. Regulus always picked seats like this. They sat down and began to talk.

“So I take it you know Uncle Padfoot?” Emilia said. 

“Uncle Padfoot? Oh! You mean Sirius. Yes, he’s father’s brother.” Hermione spooned her ice-cream, and she let it melt in her mouth. To experiment, she stuck her tongue out to see if it was glittering.

“You’ve got to eat more,” Emilia said. “Harry brought the grape flavour once. His tongue was purple for three days!" Hermione wondered if her tongue would sparkle for three days as well. So does that mean you’re Uncle Padfoot’s nephew?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I suppose.” By adoption, but I guess he was her uncle now. For Hermione, she’s only ever known Regulus and her godfather, Severus Snape and her tutor,

“He’s Harry’s godfather.”

“I know.”

“Mummy says that Uncle Padfoot’s never mentioned you ever,” Emilia continued. Hermione stared down at the squiggly sprinkles in her ice cream.

She rested her cheek on her palm, and she stirred it once.

“That’s because I’ve never met him before yesterday,” she said.

“Why?”

Hermione shrugged. “I found out about him when I was eight, and he sent us a Christmas card.” But Regulus didn’t want to reply back incase their owl was traced. She bombarded him with questions of having a sibling for days. What was it like? Could I have one? Can we meet Uncle Sirius?

Her tutor was quite interested in him, before she left for Belgium. Maybe she could have had a little brother to boss around?

Finally, he’d pinched her cheek, and he said. “Well, you’re quite enough for me to handle. Have you cleaned your room by the way?”

“Did you know that Uncle Padfoot is an aminagus?”

“You mean Ani _magus.”_

“Dad and Uncle Padfoot are great friends. They are both aminaguses. They learned how to be aminaguses when they were fourteen! Of course, mummy would be beside herself if Harry and I did something like that.”

Hermione was starting to get annoyed. Of course, they were! Uncle Sirius preferred the Potters and _his_ friend to his own _brother._  Regulus valued family. It was the reason why he let her keep her "muggle heritage" and he let her add Granger to her last name. 

She changed the topic.

“What can they transform into?”

Why didn’t her Father tell her this? Why didn’t Father tell her _anything_ about her uncle? He’d said that they had been thick as thieves when they were younger.

“Well,” Emilia began. “Dad’s a stag, but mum doesn’t let him be a stag in the house. He used to give Harry and me rides around the house when we were younger and mummy wasn’t home. Uncle Sirius… well… why don’t you just ask him?”

Hermione stirred her ice cream once more. She was feeling annoyed.

“I will,” she said. “Do you think the owner give me more sprinkles if I ask nicely?”

“Mr. Fortescue is quite nice,” Emilia replied. “He gives me an extra scoop sometimes.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Hermione headed over to the counter, and she was waiting while Mr. Fortescue dealt with one of the customers in front of her. She reached out for one of the napkins on the table next to the window when she spotted someone out the window.

It was only a brief moment.

He was wearing a hood. He glanced towards the ice-cream shop, and past the oblivious customers on the sunlit porch, and through the windows. She knew he couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see past the reflection of the daylight on the windows.

There was something familiar about the way he carried himself, and her fingers twitched as they hovered over over the bracelet. But then he moved forward as if nothing had happened, and he looked away.

Hermione pulled her fingers away from the bracelet. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

But what if it was a false alarm? What made this individual suspicious? Was it the way he walked? Let’s be reasonable now, Hermione, she thought. A limp is not uncommon. Cloaks weren’t uncommon. He wasn’t blasting the alley apart either. Maybe she imagined the limp…

“My dear?” Mr. Fortescue asked her. “What can I do for you?”

“Ohh…” Hermione felt like her throat dried up. “Can I have um… some more sprinkles?” Suddenly, she didn’t feel like talking with Emilia or eating her ice cream. Mr. Fortescue added some more sprinkles with a smile, and she smiled back.

Suddenly, she felt like crying, and she just wanted to go home. She wanted _Forky’s_ ice cream. But this was no time for grief, she thought. What if he really _was…_ the man who set fire to her home? What if he was looking for her? Who would have tipped him off? Was it Lucius Malfoy? Oh! She should have held her tongue! 

“What’s the matter?” Emilia asked her. “You look like you want to have a good cry.”

Hermione forced a smile on her face. 

“Tell me more about the Marauder's adventures.”

And as Emilia chattered on, Hermione half paid attention. She was taking inventory of each of the customers filtering in and within the store, and she watched the people outside the window closely—like her father taught her—and she kept her wand on her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i'm adding these at the end bc like y'all won't care enough for this at the beginning.  
> So unbeta'ed again, so I'll probably come back next time I post to edit again like I edited the previous chapter
> 
> Also like the family tension is a hugeeee part of this fic. I'm a sucker for romance okay, and there will be some. But like I'm trying to carve out a dysfunctional family out of two estranged brothers and one headstrong girl who wants to change the whole world. Like let's face it, I dunno how to write Reg and Siri as character bc one is dead, the other is imprisoned and then dies. And you're just left with tidbits of their life.  
> Also about Hermione, she's just thirteen and confused and she doesn't understand the history between her father and his brother. and she's conflicted abt everything. 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER we go to HOgwarts. I hope y'all liked Emilia who's an OC. She's super cute imo! I'd imagine James doting on her so much. Her godfather is lupin!!


	3. Chapter 3

When the intruder had broken into their quaint house in France and killed Forky and Kreacher, Regulus had been away. Mipsy apparated out to find Regulus. The intruder had been operating under the understanding that Hermione was home. Kreacher was interrogated on Hermione’s whereabouts, and Regulus hadn't wanted to take the chance incase Hermione's location was compromised. Hermione had been been at Beauxbatons, and he arrived to pull her out within twelve hours of the incident.  

Hermione and Mipsy were lodged into a hotel, while Regulus dealt with the French aurors. Unfortunately, Hermione was attacked when she opened the door, and some frenzied duelling later, Hermione managed to defend herself long enough for Mipsy to send the man crashing out the window. Before he could recover, Mipsy and Hermione apparated out from the devastated hotel room. Hermione sent a warning to Regulus.  

The French Auror watching them had been imperioused severely. Hermione was the only one who knew the man’s voice, but she claimed she hadn’t seen his face because of the mask he wore. A death eater’s mask. Mipsy confirmed the description. 

Regulus told Hermione that Grimmauld Place was unplottable and currently the safest place for her.

So Hermione was stuck at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the week, while he went off to get the rest of their belongings salvaged from the wreck of their home. Hermione cracked open her textbooks, and she buried her nose into them.

She decided to do some exploring to stretch her legs after they cramped up.

Hermione had explored the entire house by the end of the week—every room in the house except for Sirius’ room. She decided to try to break into the study again. Sirius had apparently placed a locking charm over it, but she’d long learned how to pick them. Curiosity wasn’t a sin, but Hermione was past her guilty conscience after her third entry. She just liked looking at the tapestry and reading the names on the Black family tree, she thought. What harm would that do?

Besides, Sirius didn’t seem like the type who would let any muggleborn traps lying around the house for thirteen years. He also wouldn’t happen to keep some mad wife locked up anywhere, would he? Curiosity trumped over her sense of propriety.

She stepped into the study which consisted of a shelf of books, and a high backed chair behind a large imposing desk. The desk had the black insignia carved on it with the words _Toujours Pur._ She’d often wondered if the Black family had french origins, and if they did? What happened to the French Branch?

On the wall to the left of the desk was a tapestry. The study was large, and it was large enough to accommodate three guests on the couches surrounding a coffee table.

There was also a painting of a rather pompous looking man staring at her. During her previous two entries, the painting had been missing. That’s how she met Phineas Nigellus Black.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Phineas said. He wrinkled his nose at her.

“Excuse me? But who are _you_?”

“You are certainly excused!”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“That’s because I leave my portrait sometimes,” he said. “I would have thought that the lock on the study was child proof.”

“I'm not a child,” Hermione said. “Well, now I certainly understand why Sirius locked you in here. ”

“Well good riddance,” he said. “I certainly enjoy being locked up in this room. I’d rather not see the doghouse that it has been turned into. He’s tried to do away with _everything._ Everything about our legacy! He tried to take off the tapestry, but he couldn’t. A permanent sticking charm. I come here for some _peace_ and quiet, to get away from Dippet’s snoring.”

Hermione walked over to the tapestry, and she put her hands behind her back as she peered at the faces on the tapestry. Regulus hadn’t talked about his family in years.

“When did he try to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Take out the tapestry.” Hermione gestured towards it.

“Oh!” Phineas said. “Years ago. Hasn’t bothered with it since. The only reason he keeps me around is to send a message to Dumbledore. He hates this place, and says it reminds him of his father a bit too much. Heard him say to  Potter and Lupin when they were in here.”

She glanced at her name joined by a thin golden line to Regulus’ name with a smile.

“Well, isn’t that a pity,” she said. “I don’t think he’s looked at the tapestry in years.”

“Aren’t you the newest edition of Black spawn? Regulus’ little adopted brat?” Phineas asked her.

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that Regulus adopted me?”

Phineas gave her one beady eyed smile which she didn’t quite like.

“Well if Regulus didn’t educate you on the family history, I’m Phineas Nigellus Black. A former headmaster of Hogwarts. That’s how I ended up on the wall of Dumbledore’s office, eavesdropping on your rather unfortunate story.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. So Dumbledore’s office wasn’t the _safest_ place in the world if someone like him could hear things.

“And before you ask,” he said. “I’m bound by an oath of secrecy on most matters that happen in the office, and so are the other headmasters. We’re not about to go jabber on matters to anyone who walks in here.”

“What would happen if I were a polyjuiced Deatheater?”

“Then I certainly wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?”

“But you—”

“You were here when you were quite young,” he said. “A chubby toddler, and he’d brought you in before he left for France.”  

She’d been in here as a child?

“You’re bluffing,” Hermione said. “There is no oath of secrecy.”

“Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t. Believe what you want. Dumbledore has hosted some pretty important meetings in there.”

Hermione tightened her lips.

“You know _everything_ about the Black family, don’t you?” She decided to change the topic. “Seen everything,” Phineas replied. “Heard everything. I suppose so. What did you want to know? I’ve been in this house before your Father was just a twinkle in his mother’s eye.”

“Can you tell me more about my Father and his brother then?”

“Oh, the two of them bickered like animals. But every family has a black sheep, and my great granddaughter played favorites with her sons. Sirius was Orion’s favorite, although he never quite said so in front of his family, and he was quite heartbroken that his eldest heir left the family. Shut himself up in here for days, and he wrote in a little leather-bound notebook.”

“What happened to him?” Hermione whispered.

“Not quite sure,” Phineas said. He was stroking his beard. “He and Walburga were found dead in late 1979.” Phineas frowned. Hermione wondered if that had anything to do with Regulus’ defection from the death eaters.  “Come to think of it, he was meeting with someone before his death.”

“Who? What did they talk about?”

“I don’t know, girl. I wasn’t in the study, and I was angled away from the door. All I heard were voices, and they talked in here, door locked and charmed against nosy eavesdroppers.” 

Hermione turned her attention to another thing he’d said. She’d never asked Regulus what happened to Walburga and Orion Black, his parents.

“Sirius left the family?”

“Oh, yes,” Phineas said. “He’d gotten into a row with his mother. It was over the fact that he had a brief fling with a mudblood after his mother announced an engagement with that Nott girl. Poor Nott girl. She was in tears by the end of the tea-party, and Walburga brought him up to this study, pointed her wand at him and she performed a cruciatus on him.”

A thick silence followed, and Hermione stared back at Phineas. She imagined a young Sirius writhing on the carpet next to the fire-place. The blood in her ears began to ring as she remembered the feeling of being  immobilized on the floor of the Malfoy drawing room. There was a woman with wild hair standing over her, and she screa—

No, this hadn’t happened to her. It was the alternate universe’s Hermione.

“He crawled off to the Potter’s house with his Hogwarts trunk , and I didn’t see him till 1982.” Phineas said. “Regulus reinstated him after his parent’s deaths. The Cruciatus is quite a nasty thing, and my great granddaughter always had a terrible temper…”

“That’s not a temper.” She tightened her lips and stared back at the tapestry where the old illustration of her grandmother was. “That’s cruel. Blood-prejudice is cruel.”

Phineas scoffed at her.

“One day, girl, you’ll be less idealistic, less youthful, and when the muggleborns finally begin to infiltrate your government and pillage your positions, you’ll understand.”

Hermione snorted. “Weren’t you supposed to be a Headmaster of sorts?”

“Of sorts?” Phineas crowed. “What sort of respect have they been teaching you?”

“I’m saying that you’re not quite making _any_ sense.”

“You know what they’ll be asking us to do next? Build muggle relations! Muggles have hunted us for years! They’ve already begun to teach the children muggle studies! What next? We’ll be using dangerous muggle contraptions?”

“I’ve used the telly,” Hermione said. “One of the girls from my neighbourhood invited me over to watch the 1988 Olympics.”

“What gibberish are you speaking, girl?” Phineas asked her. “Has my great great grandson lost his mind? Are you saying that you’ve been fraternizing with muggles? Using their contraptions?”

At which, Hermione gave him a wicked smile. He shuddered within the frame.

“Muggle sports.”

He told her that muggle sports were absolutely barbaric and how could she fill her head with that rubbish?

She replied that quidditch was even more barbaric _! At least_ the French Wizarding school of Beauxbatons had better sense not to introduce it as a school sport. Instead, they had Winged Horse racing at Beauxbatons!

And to which, Phineas replied that the French were the _absolute_ worst during the war with Grindelwald, and Hermione replied that if she wasn’t mistaken, the British Ministry stalled for a great deal of time, didn’t they?

Phineas scoffed. It wasn’t Britain’s war, why would it matter to them if some mad dark wizard was going around subduing mudbloods. She was just a child who read too much and knew nothing, and that infuriated Hermione into telling him that he had _no_ right to talk since he couldn’t even come up with basic magical theory concerning muggleborns, pardon her, mudbloods!

This led to a long argument, and at that point, there had been pink splotches that appeared on Phineas’ cheeks insisting on some (in Hermione’s opinion) half-cocked theory that muggleborns carry magic-infecting diseases. Which is why they have squibs! To which Hermione replied that inbreeding was quite the novel idea, wasn’t it? It certainly helped combating the increase of magical diseases? Why were most pureblood families wiped out due to dragon pox?  

“I’m talking to an unreasonable and impudent child!”

“I’m talking to a portrait of a Headmaster who doesn’t have a lot of sense! Why—”

“It’s great that I don’t live to see this drivel!”

“Well, I’m glad!”

“Where are your manners, you little rascal!”

They heard a clearing of throat behind them, and Hermione stilled. She turned around slowly to see Sirius standing there, leaning against the door frame, and looking between his great great grandfather and Hermione. Hermione felt guilty. Slightly. He had an eyebrow raised, and a slightly amused expression.

“I’d let the two of you continue, but you’ve given Kard quite a fright. He wanted to let you know that dinner’s ready.”

“The girl broke into the study. I suggest she be sent to bed with _nothing_ to eat!” Phineas sniffed. “Oh what an absolutely rebellious child. You need to learn your manners! I hope you won’t be in my house. Slytherin requires only the best”

“Well excuse me!” Hermione flared up again. “I wouldn’t want to be sorted into a house full of bigoted blood purists, who seem to think I’m sort of insult to them! You’ll probably eating your words when I become Minister for Magic!” She stomped her foot, and swivelled around. Phineas howled after her as she stormed out the room.

“Well Missy! Becoming Minister for Magic takes more than just smarts! You ought to listen to those who know better—”

The rest of it was drowned by Sirius’ rumble of laughter. Hermione retreated downstairs to find Kard standing there.

“Look at her! Can’t you tell Regulus to do something about that attitude—” She didn’t hear the rest.

“Where’s Mipsy?” Hermione asked. She must have sounded angry, because the elf winced.

“M-master Regulus called for her,” Kard replied. “Dinner is ready.” Hermione wondered why.

At dinner, Sirius asked her if she truly wanted to become Minister for Magic, and she replied that she had high expectations for herself. He said that she had his vote if she lobbied for more days of vacation for poor harried Aurors. Hermione asked Sirius what he was doing at home this early over dinner.

“You mean you haven’t noticed?” Sirius asked her. “I’ve not been home lately. Been working overtime since Moody’s team took on the Knockturn alley thief case. Turns out that the clerk, who was accused, got murdered.”

Hermione tilted her head and stared at him.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Do you read the Prophet? I had to deal with the Prophet reporter. I bet they wrote a long opinion piece on how the Ministry’s aurors are so incompetent that we let a man get murdered.” Sirius had noticeable eye bags, and he sounded wearier talking. “What have you been up to besides arguing with my great great grandfather.”

“Studying.”

Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“Studying,” Hermione repeated. “I’ve lost a month. A month of school! I really do want to go back to Beauxbatons. I had been maintaining my top rank, and perfect scores. It would have been a streak. I would be headgirl by my sixth year! Maybe even an award!”

“Lily and Remus will adore you,” Sirius said. “You’ll be getting more books for Christmas, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Nothing wrong with being well-read,” Hermione said. She wasn’t sure if Mrs. Potter liked her or Regulus.

“Oh goodness. Nothing wrong, indeed. We can’t have an uncultured Minister for Magic,” Sirius said. Hermione felt as if he was going to continue to poke fun of her about being Minister for Magic. “I heard you made friends with Emilia.”

“I did,” Hermione said. “She’s nice. I helped her with her sums.”

“She told me you were her best friend. Would you like to meet her tomorrow?”

“You mean I can leave the house for some fresh air and sun? What a novel concept!” she asked. “I’ve been starved for company and fresh air all week.”

“With your father’s permission, of course.”

Hermione’s expression deflated.

 

* * *

 

Regulus was okay with it. He had decided to run some errands later on.

Hermione and Sirius landed at the Potter’s cottage at Godric’s Hollow the next day at nine in the morning. It was Saturday, and it was two days before she could end up at Hogwarts.

“You ought to see Hogsmeade. Honeydukes has the best chocolate in all of Wizarding Britain. I don’t think even your French confectioners can make better chocolate.” Sirius told her.

“What is Hogsmeade?”

“Have you signed your Hogsmeade form?”

“Hogsmeade forms? Are those trips you can take outside school?”

Sirius gave her a sharp and calculative look. “Regulus didn’t tell you? He didn’t sign your forms?”

“What do you mean?”

He glanced ahead with a frown. “Well. Let’s turn here.” He steered her down the street.

“Hang on, what do you mean by Hogsmeade?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

“Am I unchaperoned at Hogsmeade?”

“I bet you’re really excited to see Emilia!” Sirius said loudly. “It seems as if poor Lily’s stuck with the bookstore. You’ll probably get to meet Emilia and James. He’s Harry’s father by the way.”

Sirius blabbered on about the good old days of the Marauders. They knocked on the door of a quaint cottage with a gorgeous garden full of flowers and a bed of roses. There were Lilies too, and there was a bed of petunias beside it. The grass was manicured nicely, and everything was neat and tidy. Mrs. Potter really loved her garden.

The man that opened the door was taller, he had messy hair and a pair of glasses like his son. He glanced down at Hermione with a wide smile. He reminded her of that boy, Harry. Except for the eyes. Harry had his mother’s eyes, and so did Emilia.

“You must be Hermione,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, my lady. I’m James. James Potter.” He held out a hand. Hermione shook it.

“Pleasure, Mr. Potter,” she said. She held up Crookshanks. “This is Crookshanks.”

James pretended to tip over his hat to the cat, and Hermione thought he was rather funny.  

“Sirius has told me all about you,” he said.

“Nothing bad, I hope.” Hermione cast a side-glance at Sirius.

James grinned at her as he let her in. “Oh, I don’t know about good.” Hermione shot Sirius a glare, and Sirius suddenly found the wall quite interesting. “Emilia! Emilia! Hermione’s here.”

She heard rustling upstairs in Emilia’s room, and then the tumble of footsteps down the stairs, and James said: “Emilia, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop pestering me for a visit to Grimmauld Place. I decided that you and your Father could use the rest after your eventful return, you see?”

Hermione wondered how much Mr. Potter knew about her, and she glanced at Sirius who casually strolled into the next room asking James about the menu for lunch.

“You’re starting school next week, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Potter, what is Hogsmeade?”

 

* * *

 

Hermione woke up on Monday feeling like the world had placed a weight her shoulders. She decided to stretch before she got down for breakfast. Regulus was waiting.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

Hermione sighed into her porridge.

Her trunk was by the fireplace, and they were set to go. She was already wearing the Hogwarts Robes. It was supposed to be her first day, and McGonagall had asked her to come earlier so she could attend classes. They’d do the sorting at dinner.

“Do you still have the bracelet to contact me if needed?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“Don’t leave the school without it.”

“But what’s the point. You haven’t even signed my Hogsmeade forms.”

“I did sign them,” Regulus said. Hermione glanced up at him in surprise. “But McGonagall reserves the right to pull you out of the weekend if there is danger.”

“I see.”

“Try not to get into any trouble, Hermione.”

She shrugged. “You know I won’t,” she said. “You know that trouble always _finds_ me.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to have trouble on account of being a Black and a muggleborn.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Yes,” Regulus said. “So don’t go looking for trouble with any of them.”

Hermione shrugged. “Okay.” That was fair. Hermione was pretty set on having a spotless academic career. She didn’t care for little petty children’s squabbles over whose blood was cleaner.

“Sirius sends his apologies,” he said. “He sincerely hopes you end up in Gryffindor. He told me to send you his regards. He wanted to give you a charmed map. It allows you to see where you are in Hogwarts so you don’t get lost.”  

He handed Hermione a piece of parchment, and Hermione opened it to see a drawing of Hogwarts. There were labels for locations.

“I’ll write,” Regulus said. “Write back often.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve always written back.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m just worried.”

“Why send me to Hogwarts then?” she asked. “Why can’t you just homeschool me? We could move to a different country.”

“Because it doesn’t work like that anymore, Hermione. The enemy is getting smarter. And maybe I won’t always be there around to save you. Travelling isn’t the solution. We need more allies.”

She stared down at her breakfast plate. Neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes, and Hermione broke the silence.

“Father,” she said. “I have something to tell you.”

He waited patiently.

“That day when you went off to Gringotts and you let me go with… Emilia… I think I saw that man again,” she said.

She watched Regulus’ face change.

“Are you _sure?”_

“I’m not,” she said. “I thought I saw him. But maybe I’m going crazy seeing him everywhere. I mean even the last time, I didn’t see his face, but I remember his voice. He was too far away. I was in Mr. Fortescue’s shop, and he was on the streets.”

“You recognized him on the streets?”

She told him the whole story right from the beginning to the end, and breakfast was abandoned on the table. He didn’t berate her for not telling him earlier. Instead, Regulus rubbed his temples.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I don’t know! I really don’t.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m starting to rethink those Hogsmeade weekends.”

 

* * *

 

McGonagall walked Hermione to her first class in the morning, Transfiguration.

“I have great expectations for you, Miss Granger. Your school records show great promise,” she said.

“What about the sorting?” Hermione asked her. She tried to memorize the corridors, but then she gave up when they came across the moving staircases.

“Your sorting…” McGonagall began. She stepped onto one of those staircases and she made her way down the stairs, and Hermione followed suite. “Your sorting will happen before dinner.”

They entered the transfiguration class, and McGonagall offered her time-table. “You’re quite ambitious, Miss Granger. That’s quite the number of classes. We had to cut them down, because they had begun to overlap. I hope you like the courses we’ve chosen.”

Hermione took a seat on one of the empty desks, and she heard the people filter into the class. They chose Arithmancy, The Study of Ancient Runes, and Divination for her.

“Excuse me, but… I picked muggle studies.”

“I know,” she said. “We could switch out one of them for you if you like.”

Hermione’s shoulders wilted, and she sat back as the class began to chatter. She couldn’t pick! She glanced around at the other kids who were giving her a wide berth of space. Harry Potter entered the class with a boy with a round face. They were followed by the red-head, Ronald Weasley.

They propped themselves in the space beside her, and Hermione pretended to be distracted with her books. On the other end of the class, people were looking at her curiously.

“You must be the new girl,” Harry said. “Remember? It’s me. Harry. Mum wrote to me about you over the weekend.”

“That’s quite nice of her,” Hermione said.

Harry pointed at Ron and the other boy, who were seated besides him. “Right so… These are my friends. That’s Ron. You’ve met him.” He pointed to the redhead who was chewing on a bit of bacon. “That’s Neville.” The mousy haired boy waved his hand. “Longbottom, Neville.”

“Hi,” Hermione said. Neville smiled at her. He seemed nice.

They heard a clearing of a throat, and they all turned to the front when McGonagall stood there.

“You may have noticed a new face,” McGonagall began. “This is Hermione Granger-Black. She’s a new student.”

Hermione felt the heat of nearly twenty pairs of eyes on her.

“What house are you in?” Someone called out.

“She’s not in one just yet,” McGonagall said. “The sorting has to be done tonight before dinner in front of the entire school.”

Hermione sighed.

“I do hope you don’t end up in Slytherin,” Ron said. “You could end up in any of the other houses but not that one.”

“Like I said,” she said under her breath as McGonagall began to teach. “I’m keeping an open mind.”

Ron, Neville and Harry looked startled, and she turned to the front to pay attention to the lesson. They had Potions next, and it was down in the dungeon. Sirius had given her a map of Hogwarts which was charmed to show her her location. Hermione watched it incase she got lost, because the boys were walking ahead. She followed them. She had Potions next too, and the boy, Neville, was talking about how horrible Snape was.

That’s until she heard him address her.

“Wow!” Neville said. “What’s that?”

“It’s a map of Hogwarts,” she said. “It’s been charmed to show me where I am.”

“Dad had one like that,” Harry said. “The Marauders did. It was charmed to show you where _everyone_ in the castle was on the map.”

“What happened to it?” Hermione asked. That would be a good idea to keep track of potential intruders.

“It got confiscated,” Harry replied. He shrugged. “Dunno where it ended up. They made it in their fifth year, did you know? Was real good with the pranks. I wish I had that map.”

Hermione blinked. She was about to say something when she heard a voice behind her. “Granger-Black, is it?”

She turned around to see a boy striding up to her. He had blonde hair and a pointy chin, and he was followed by two other goons. There was another girl beside him who looked sort of like a pug. Hermione flickered her eyes back to him.

“Yes,” she said.

“Draco Malfoy.” he said. He didn’t give her a hand. He had his father’s haughty eyes, she noted.

Harry and Ron scoffed. Malfoy looked between the two of them and smirked. “I see you’ve met Potty and Weasle-bee.” He looked at Neville like he was the afterthought. “And Longbottom, huh?”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said.

Hermione really wanted to get back to class.

“Do you have Potions with us?” she asked.

“Oh,” Draco said. “I do. My father had a lot to say about you. Is it true then?” He walked up to her, and sneered at her like one of those menacing children at Beauxbatons when they wanted to make fun of her. “That you’re actually a _mudblood.”_

There was a thick shocked silence as Hermione took a deep breath before meeting Draco’s eyes calmly. She gripped the handle of her wand.

“It is.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

“APOLOGIZE MALFOY!” Harry began.

“EAT SLUGS!” Ron roared as he pointed a spellotaped wand at Malfoy, and the result backfired spectacularly on Ron as he flew back down the corridor, and he began to throw up slugs. Hermione then watched as Neville ran off to help him, and Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy, and Malfoy’s friends followed suite.

Spells flew, Hermione ducked out of the way, Harry was sent flying back into Ron—who threw up into him—and one of the teachers arrived before Malfoy could continue his onslaught. Bat bogeys were flying out of Harry’s nose as he struggled to gain a footing.

That’s when a half-goblin, and half-human teacher arrived, and he disarmed _everyone_ at the scene, including Hermione who shot a disarming spell at the girl, followed by the other bloke.. She had been debating on doing the same thing.

“What _exactly_ is going on here! Detention for all of you! Fifteen points from Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin for fighting in the corridors!” he squeaked.  

At this point, Hermione didn’t quite care for any of them at the scene, and they all started to protest. 

"Professor Flitwick!" Harry began. "Malfoy—"

“Detention?” Hermione repeated. "You can't give me detention." 

“Did you hear wrong, Miss er…? Aren’t you new? Well, that’s a great way to begin the semester! We don't give special treatment here at Hogwarts.”

“You can’t group me with _them!_ I’ve never had detention in my life!”

“You did attack Miss Parkinson!”

“Of course I did! But that was to disarm!”

“I don’t know how things ran at Beauxbatons—” Hermione bristled. How dare he? Did he just imply that Beauxbatons was uncouth? “—but here at Hogwarts, we don’t tolerate dueling in the corridors!”

“Detention?” Hermione squawked. “I wasn’t the one—”

“Goodness,” Flitwick said. “Shouldn’t you all get going to class? You will all get your wand at the end of the day from your head of houses.” He gave Hermione a significant look.

Hermione turned to Malfoy who was mouthing ‘Detention’ repeatedly as Flitwick waddled over to Ron to put out the counterspell. She walked towards Malfoy after glaring him down. Any sense of propriety, and Regulus’ advice flew out of her head.

“I heard you were slashed by a Hippogriff for opening your big fat mouth,” she said. Malfoy’s face went pale. “I’m sure you could dodge my wand attacks, but can you dodge my fist?”

She swung a fist towards him. Malfoy winced, both of Malfoy’s bodyguards took a step forward, the Parkinson girl shrieked.

“I didn’t think so.” Hermione dangled her fist in front of his nose.

“Miss Granger!” she heard Flitwick behind her. “Do you want _double_ detention?” Malfoy’s face darkened with anger, and he was about to open his fat mouth. Hermione picked up her satchel and walked off, feeling pretty satisfied.

 

* * *

 

In Potions, Hermione, so she picked somewhere right at the front. It was a seat which people were usually bound to avoid.  had to sit alone She watched as Severus Snape swept into the class, cast her a glance and a nod, and he began the class. Having no wand made her feel uneasy, so Hermione with her back to the Gryffindors and on the table furthest to the end.

Hermione regretted faking a punch at Malfoy to scare him. What if he asked one of his friends to make her sprout hair out of ears or some other horrible prank!

“Longbottom,” he said. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the table where Harry, Neville and Ron were sitting at. “You are to sit with Miss Granger-Black.”

She heard Neville shuffle awkwardly towards her desk. He cast a longing look back at Harry and Ron once or twice, and Hermione folded her arms. He set down his bag beside her. Hermione stared ahead as Snape began the lesson. Today, they were to make the Herbicide Potion, and she’d read ahead.

“I’ll get the ingredients,” Neville said.

“Alright.”

She watched him leave for the stores where he joined with Ron, and they were whispering furiously about something or the other. Judging by the look that Ron gave her over her shoulder, she supposed that it was about her.

Hermione supposed that stopping Malfoy was more about them than actually standing up for muggle-born rights, and more about their own vendetta against Malfoy. But she didn’t quite mind, and she wondered if she was just too hard on them.

Her first day was _messed_ up because of them, and she’d gotten detention!

When Neville brought back his ingredients, and she decided to extend an olive branch to him.

“Why don’t you let me do it?” she said.

It came off all wrong. Neville looked at her like he was slightly insulted.

“Um…” he said. “I can chop them up. I’m not completely pants at Potions.”

But when he started to cut, he cut them in all the wrong sizes. Long and short and all uneven, instead of thin slices like the book instructed. Hermione winced.

“You need to be a bit more careful!” she exclaimed as she reached over to grab the knife from his grasp.

Neville nearly jumped.

“Look,” she said. She took his knife, and she forgot the potion was bubbling, and that she had to mind it. “You have to cut it evenly like this!” The potion began to boil, and while she was re-cutting the third root, the potion was boiling over, and she panicked as she tried to bring it back under control. Bubbles and potion draught was overflowing from the cauldron.

That’s when Snape arrived and vanished all the potion to save her a burn.  

He looked from Hermione to Neville.

“Pack up,” he said. “You will both write a long essay on what it means to split the work in a Potions class,” he said. “I must say that I’m fairly used to Longbottom’s unfortunate lack of talent, but with your record, Miss Granger-Black, I expected better.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest. He turned to Neville, and he picked up one of the jagged roots with his forefinger and thumb. He dangled it in front of Neville.

“What part of cut the roots finely do you not understand, Longbottom?”

The Slytherin end of the dungeon cheered at Neville’s expense, and his ears heated up. He looked down at his knees as Snape set the root down. He turned to Hermione again.

“Meet me after class. We have much to discuss about catching up with your _lessons,_ as well as appropriate potions conduct.”

Hermione cleaned up without another word to Neville, and she frowned when he apologized softly under his breath to her. She turned to him in surprise.

“I’m not really mad at you,” she said. “I think we were both too hasty. I could have just told you to slice up the roots thinner, and minded the potion like I was supposed to.”

“I should have read the textbook,” Neville said sheepishly.

They grinned at each other.

She spent the rest of her class writing up her essay on appropriate Potions Conduct and why she knew better. She thought Neville glanced her way occasionally.

After the class was over, the rest of the class made a beeline for the door while Hermione made her way over to Snape’s desk. She expected him to berate her on the incident during the class. Instead, he leant back against his desk, and folded his arms. He didn’t look angry or disappointed, just neutral.  

“It’s been eventful few weeks, no doubt,” he said. “My condolences about your house elves.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

“We had expected that, and as your Father has mentioned, we will continue to expect them,” he said. “Which is why your Occlumency lessons will have to continue. I hope you have been practicing.”

“As much as I could.”

“I’ll be sending more information shortly,” he said. “Till then, you are not to tell _anyone_ about this for obvious reasons. I can’t quite tell people that I’m advertising free occlumency lessons.”  

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.  

“What is it?”

Snape gave her a long look.

“Why did you target Neville? Where as one of Malfoy’s croonies couldn't even chop up their roots properly, and you didn’t even bat an eyelash at them.. I personally thought that was a bit unfair.”

“Are you a teacher, Hermione?”

“It was just an observation, godfather.” She paused.

“I have my reasons,” he said.

“I just hope they are good ones.”

He gave her a look that wasn’t quite a sneer but it wasn’t quite a frown either.

“I won’t tolerate your lip in the presence of your classmates,” he said. “You have a role to play. You are a student at Hogwarts. I am a teacher.” Hermione frowned. “Regardless if you are my godchild or not, you will still be fairly graded like the rest of the class, so keep your eyes on your own potion. Which is something you ought to have done today.”

Hermione didn’t reply for a moment. He wasn’t the nicest of teachers. He was a rather strict teacher, and there weren’t many students like Hermione who had an answer for every single question. Maybe that was his own way of making Neville a better potioneer? Hermione didn't understand. 

Was he trying to tell her to mind her own business at Hogwarts? Keep her head down? Don’t get into trouble? That’s the advice that Regulus had given her too. But Hermione hadn't known her godfather very well, except for the few times he had stopped by their home in France. 

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll mind my own potion.”

“Get to class. You'll need a late slip from me.”

 

* * *

 

The only uneventful class that day was Ancient Runes after Lunch. She shared it with a Hufflepuff girl called Susan Bones and a Ravenclaw called Michael Corner.

“Wow,” Corner commented. “You’ve got more classes than most of us Ravenclaws. I tried to get Terry to take this class, but he thought two electives were enough.”

“I like to broaden my horizons.”

“Well,” Susan said. “I think Hufflepuff would be happy to have you.” Hermione beamed at her. “Everyone’s so nice in Hufflepuff!”

“Ravenclaw would be honored,” Corner told her.

They both wished her luck for the sorting, and they pointed her in direction of the Arithmancy class.

Arithmancy followed, and Hermione didn’t know any faces in the class. Except for a boy who showed up late. He had dark curly hair that fell into his eyes, and Hermione had a strong urge to push it up and clip it down. He was the only Slytherin she hadn’t met personally. She’d seen him around Malfoy’s croonies during Potions. Hermione found herself wishing she had her wand back.

“You’re late,” Professor Vector said with a frown.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He was quite polite, Hermione thought. “It won’t happen again.” But he _was_ a snake.

“Well,” Professor Vector said. “Take a seat.” Her eyes roved over to Hermione’s seat.

Unlike Malfoy, he didn’t quite taunt her at first glance. But when Professor Vector turned her face to the board, he started speaking.

“So you’re the one who’s gotten Draco in a tizzy?” he asked.

Hermione was trying to focus on what Professor Vector was writing on the board. She could barely concentrate, because he kept whispering in her ear.  

“He’s been talking about you all throughout lunch,” he said. “You should have heard him.”

“He may think a lot about me, but I don’t think of him at all.”

She heard a slight snort.

“He’s been obsessed with Potter since first year, but it seems like it’s going to be you,” he said. “The name’s Lestrange. Lestrange, Rigel.” Hermione stopped writing.  “I didn’t know that the Black family adopted muggleborns. Does the phrase _Toujours Pur_ mean anything to you?”

Hermione sighed.

“You mean the french phrase? Coined by the french branch of the Black family, which went obsolete like the phrase itself?”

He coughed to try and hide his surprise or laughter, Hermione didn’t know.

“Listen, I’d _love_ to argue blood politics with you, but I’d like _one_ class where—” She turned to look at him and she was startled by the look of amusement on his face “—I can actually write notes and focus.”

“Write notes and focus,” Rigel repeated. “Well, aren’t you studious?”

She ignored him in favor of concentrating on what Professor Vector was saying.

He let her focus for the rest of the lesson. She eventually forgot he was beside her when Professor Vector gave them a difficult question. She beamed when she was the only one to answer it.  As the class ended, she was about to introduce herself to Professor Vector when he grabbed her arm, and he said.

“Not that I don’t like a good show, but a word of advice. You’ll do _very_ badly in Slytherin.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I was trying to keep an open mind, but if you insist.” Professor Vector was packing up her things.

“Well, your existence is an insult to Draco and the rest of the pureblood world,” he said. “And most purebloods end up in Slytherin for obvious reasons.”

“Those being?”

“Politics,” he said. “We make great politicians.”

Hermione snorted. He clenched her arm, and he drew her closer. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“A word of advice. You can tell the Sorting Hat what you want, and he’ll respect it.” With that, he let her wrench her arm away, and Hermione thought the whole thing was hysterical.

“Thanks for the advice,” she said. “But you won’t see me begging to be friends with you. I have dignity.”  

Hermione picked up her books, stuffed it into the bag, and she ran after Professor Vector who had headed out the door.

“Good luck, Granger- _Black,”_ Rigel called out. 

 

* * *

 

McGonagall handed her her wand as they made their way towards the Great Hall. She held in her hand a worn out hat. Reaching into her pocket, she handed Hermione’s wand back to her.

“I trust today’s incident won’t be repeated again,” she said.

“It won’t,” Hermione said. “I don’t intend to associate myself with troublemakers.”

Hermione took her wand quickly, and she nodded. She mentally vowed never to be parted with her wand again. Her wand made her feel braver. This wand was important, Regulus said. It had been _instrumental in_ fighting off Voldemort, because it stopped Voldemort’s signature killing curse in its tracks. Nine inches, Holly and Phoenix feather. Hermione Granger of the Alternate universe had never quite explained why, and he passed it down to her when she turned eight.  

Maybe one of these days, she’d find out.

“Glad to hear that, Miss Granger-Black,” McGonagall said. They waited as behind double doors as Dumbledore began his speech.

“Historically, Hogwarts has had its share of transfer students, but they aren’t very common. Starting at a new school comes with its own challenges, and that’s why I would like you to invite and welcome our newest student, Hermione Granger-Black. She is a third year transfer from Beauxbatons,” Dumbledore said.

McGonagall pushed the doors open, and she led Hermione to the front where several pairs of eyes and heads looked on curiously. Hermione stowed her wand away, and she felt nervous. Her ears were red.    

Then she heard it whisper in her ear.

“Did you miss the sorting or get lost on your way to Hogwarts?” There was a little chuckle.

“Are you the sorting hat?” Hermione whispered back. Her eyes darted toward the brim of the hat, and she felt it chuckle, and it’s chuckle rippled through her hair. It was a bizarre feeling. “You talk?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to, girl. Hmm… what a puzzle. Let’s see, we could put you in—”

“Ravenclaw?”

“Not Ravenclaw.”  

“What?”

“You may be intelligent, but you lack wisdom to make good decisions or when to have to keep your mouth shut.”

“Are you crazy?” she said. “If you rule out Ravenclaw then what else do you have for me? I scored the highest in my entire grade. They said I’m brilliant!”

“You certainly know how to convince people, like a true politician. You certainly have a lot of high ambitions. A future head girl? Smartest girl of her grade? Witty. Friendly? Not so much? You’d rather have books than friends.” ”

“Perfect! I’d fit right into Ravenclaw, don’t I?”

“But you do have high ambitions. Yes. You do. You lack Slytherin’s self-preservation,” the hat chattered on. “Your taste for ambition might lead to your ruin.”

“Not Slytherin,” Hermione said. “Not _Slytherin then._ Someone told me that you’d respect my wishes and put me into Ravenclaw.”

“She threatens me now?” the Sorting Hat scoffed. “Girl, I’m a millennia older than you, and I know all the tricks up in your little head. Alright then, not Slytherin. Since it is your wish. I see Slytherin making you into something great.”

“You can’t put me in Slytherin,” she argued. “They all seem slimy. I want to be an intelligent minister for magic not a skeevy one.”

“You want to fight for what’s right?” he said. “You aren’t afraid to face your enemies. You will have a lot of enemies. You have big dreams to change the world. You have higher expectations for yourself, don’t you? Because of her.”

“Her?” Hermione whispered. “You mean the alternate universe Hermione?”

“Mmmm… You have a lot to prove. Well then, if not Ravenclaw, not Slytherin—”

“Wait! Raven—”

“—then you would be in the house of the brave, GRYFFINDOR!”

Hermione was stunned into silence as McGonagall took off the now-inanimate sorting hat, and the red and gold table erupted into cheers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all as usual, i'm going back and editing everytime I upload.  
> I self-edited this chapter so im sorry for mistakes haha, I'll go back and edit again.  
> You guys don't know how much I was stalling about putting Hermione in Slytherin. My gosh. On one hand, the narrative would be epic and full of conflict, but I felt like Gryffindor carries a different narrative, because of alternate universe Hermione. 
> 
> I'm feeling pretty good about this chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!!


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